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March, ]8!?9* Issued Monthly. $3.00 per year. Entered at the New York. 
Post'OSice as second-class matter. 


Fireside Series, No. SO. 












PUBLISHER ; 

79 WABASH AVBjCHiQAGO 


fr’j^^GILVIE 

ftbSE ST-N EW YOKK 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 













Ogilvie’s House Plans. 

It contains plans and specifications for all kinds of houses 
costing from $500 to $5,000, and is just as valuable as most books 
that cost $5.00. 

It will be sent by mail postpaid to any address on receipt of 
only 25 cents. Sold by all booksellers or address all orders to 

J. S. OGILVIE, Publisher, 

57 HOSE ST., \EW rOEK^ 


IF YOU WANT TO 

Build a House 

DON’T FAIL TO BUY 


P. O. Box 2767. 



IZMA; 

Or, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


H 


BY 

, / 


OFCO/y^^ 
cOpyRiGHr%. 

^ Kf J 


M. OZELLA SHIELDS. 


\J'^ “ O lifel life! life I with laughter and with tears 

I tried myself: I knew that I had need 
Of pain to prove that this was life indeed, 

With its warm privilege of hopes and fears.” 

—Owen Merkditm. 


{Copyright, 1889, by J. S, Ogilvie.) 


I 


1 


J. S. OGILYIE, PUBLISHEE, 

67 Kobe Street, New York ; 182 Wabash Avenue, Chicago. 


THE FIRESIDE SERIES. 

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a 


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Seventh Series. 


02. A Young Vagabond, by^ Z. R. Bennett. 


IZMA; 

Oe, SuisrsHiKE AED Shadow. 


CHAPTEE 1. 

LADY ADELENE. 

It was one of June’s own days. The morning sun, 
showering its brightness upon everything, causing 
fountains to glitter beneath its radiant touch and 
flowers to droop meekly, crept stealthily through the 
giant elms surrounding Merivale, and, reaching its 
lofty, ivy-covered walls, grew bolder and daringly flung 
itself over wide , balconies and unprotected wings, 
covering the tall marble pillars, — wdiose whiteness in 
the warm light was dazzling, — and falling upon the 
whole beautiful scene with seeming presumption and 
pride. 

It was just such a golden, gleeful sunlight as had 
shone upon the grand old mansion twenty years before, 
when the most cruel blight that ever darkened a house- 
hold fell upon Merivale. 

Then, too, the clear blue skies seemed to mock at 
misery, and the birds in the hawthorn branches had 
carolled their gladsome songs ; yet that cloudless morn- 


4 IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

ing was the darkest hour the Earl of Southwolde had 
ever in all his life known. Though the world outside 
was full of joy and b.eauty, a gloom as solemn as death 
had settled over those spacious halls, where, like a 
grim spectre, the first shadow of a disgrace had 
crept. 

A cry of horror, mingled with anger and despair, 
fell from the old Earl’s lips when the truth was first 
made known to him. 

It was long before he could believe that his only 
daughter — beautiful Adelene Dancourt, the pride and 
joy of his heart — was missing from Merivale ; that she 
had fled the night previous, while the household slept 
blissfully unconscious of all harm, with a forbidden 
lover, a handsome Spanish merchant — a tradesman ! — 
a disgrace which had never before been known to a 
Dancourt, and one which was never in life forgiven by 
the Earl. 

The shock was so great that for a time it almost 
bereft him of his senses ; but when he had recovered 
sufficiently to understand that it was no delusion, no 
mistake, — that Lady Adelene had indeed deceived him, 
— he cursed the name of the child which he had 
hitherto blessed, and summoning his son Eobert, who 
was then at Merivale, and married according to his 
wishes, he bade him go to the picture-gallery, and, 
after taking a last look upon the sweet, smiling face 
of his half-sister, — which the irate nobleman now de- 
clared was full of deceit and treachery, — turn the 
portrait to the wall. , 

This the son declined to obey, beseeching his father 
to wait until Adelene had had time to clear her good 
name before h^ condemned her ; for though the girl wa^ 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


5 


the child of the Earl’s second wife, Bobert’s mother 
had died while he was quite young, and he had never 
realized the difference in Lady Adelene and an own 
sister. 

But Lord Southwolde was obdurate. His son’s re- 
fusal to obey his request only increased his ire ; and 
going himself to the picture-gallery, he tore his 
daughter’s portrait from its hangings, and flung it 
from him like some polluted thing, to lie there in the 
corner and mould in the dust. 

And no one dared afterwards to touch it. Not one 
in that ho7isehold, who had loved the girl for her 
beauty, and grace, and gentleness, was allowed to 
breathe her name where the relentless Earl of South- 
wolde might hear it. 

It was not long after the flight ere a letter came to 
Merivale from Spain, penned by Lady Adelene’s own 
fair hand, which would have told of a heart full of love 
for the man whom she had lawfully wedded, yet one 
which was aching for a word of forgiveness from the 
father she had wronged ; but although Bobert Dan- 
court urged the Earl to learn the contents, he refused 
to even break the seal, and the letter which had been 
sent with such a hopeful heart was returned as it had 
come. 

Two years passed, and then another letter came to 
Merivale, — perhaps more full of pleading than the first, 
— beseeching the Earl to hear her story and forgive her 
for the sake of her child, lately born ; but still the stern 
father would not even look upon the touching appeal 
from his erring daughter. Like the former, it was re- 
turned unopened, but this time it was accompanied by 
a cruel message — one that the Earl, made heartless by 


6 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


his own misery, did not dream was to cost the young 
and sensitive mother her life. 

‘‘Your letters to me, Adelene Dancourt, are futile,” 
he wrote. “ They will all share the same fate. You, 
who were the first to bring disgrace on the proud name 
of Dancourt, can hope for nothing from the father 
whose heart you have broken and trampled in the dust 
but his curse for your wilfulness and folly. You are 
no longer my daughter. I have disowned you since 
the night you chose shame instead of the name of 
Dancourt and daughter of the Earl of Southwolde. 
Pursue the path that you have taken ; it is too late to 
turn back. I no longer know the girl who fled from 
her home with the plebeian Spaniard, Renzo Alvarez.” 

This reply was indeed poor Adelene’s death-blow. 

Ere a week had passed, the Earl of Southwolde was 
shocked by the sad intelligence of his unfortunate 
daughter’s death. By accident alone he saw the obit- 
uary in a London paper, saying that the wife of Renzo 
Alvarez, formerly Lady Adelene Dancourt, daughter of 
the Earl of Southwolde, had suddenly died at her hus- 
band’s home in Spain, leaving behind her a little girl 
babe. 

Eor the first time since the erring yet innocent girl 
had fled from Merivale, the Earl broke down and wept 
bitterly. 

There before him was the evidence that, though his 
daughter had chosen unwisely, she was a pure woman 
and a lawfully wedded wife, yet he had stabbed her 
heart as perhaps father had never before stabbed that 
of his child — doubtless he had killed her. 

He saw it all now, when it was too late to recall, and 
non^ but those who heard his cry of anguish and 


izMA ; OK, StNSHINl!: AND siiadoaV. 

afterward saw Lis failing liealtli and hopeless spirits, 
knew what he suffered ; but even yet he did not out- 
wardly relent. 

Not until he lay on his death-bed, — which was only a 
short time later, — did the name of the child who had 
gone to her grave unpardoned ever pass his stubborn 
lips ; then he called his son to his bedside and said to 
him : 

“ Eobert, I could not forgive Adelene in life ; but 
death has changed all. 1 pray to God that I may 
meet the poor, unfortunate child in heaven. And re- 
member, when I c.m dead, that my last words to you 
were these : ‘ Let not the sin of the mother be visited 
on the child.’ I have longed to see the little daughter 
of Adelene ; but in life I could not forget that she was 
the offspring of Eenzo Alvarez. But you, my son, 
who have never been so bitter, you will not think of 
this ; and if Adelene’s daughter should ever need a 
friend, you will befriend her, will you not ? I ask it 
of you ; I beg of you to watch over the motherless 
child, and see that no harm shall befall her. This is 
my last request ; and see that you hold it sacred. 
Merivale, my earldom, my wealth, are all yours ; but I 
trust to your honor to do by your sister’s child a good 
part.” 

^ And Lord Eobert Dancourt had faithfully promised. 
There at his father’s death-bed he swore to stand by 
the innocent babe then beneath the sunny skies of 
Spain. And perhaps no man would have been further 
from breaking his oath than he, had it not been for the 
influence of his wife. 

Eobert, Lord Dancourt, might have been a good man, 
but he lacked much of being a firm one. He knew his 


S IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

own weakness — it was possible that he might have 
conquered it ; but all her life long, Lady Dancourt had 
had her own way, and it was no intention of hers to 
surrender her will because of her marriage vows. 

Like most men. Lord Dancourt dreaded a disturb- 
ance — my lady knew it ; and it was for this reason, 
more than any particular power of his wife, that he had 
from the very time of their marriage yielded to a wo- 
man’s Tvord and a woman’s desires rather than his 
own. 

i Almost unconsciously he had fallen into her way of 
thinking and acting ; and when his father, the Earl of 
Southwolde, died, it seemed only natural that he should, 
before forming any definite plan concerning his sister’s 
child, consult with his wife. 

The fiat went forth at once. 

Lord Dancourt might suit himself about befriending 
the child of Kenzo Alvarez — he might keep his foolish 
oath to his father if he chose, and even send her money 
so long as she remained in Spain — he might see that 
she was well cared for and did not suffer ; but as for 
ever bringing her to Merivale and associating her with 
Lady Dancourt’s children — why, the thought was 
absurd, shocking! My lady would leave Merivale 
herself before it should ever be. No, indeed; the 
child of a disowned mother, who had eloped with a 
common Spaniard, was not half good enough to enter 
the doors of Lord Dancourt, Earl of Southwolde. 

My lady, the Countess, even hinted that it had never 
been substantially proven that the child had a right to 
the name of Alvarez ; but she dared not go further with 
this. She saw by the expression on her husband’s 
face that she had reached her limit. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


9 


Yet tlie new Earl of Soutliwolde had not sufficient 
firmness to disregard all this from his wife. He might 
have gone to Spain himself and kept his promise to 
his father ; but instead, he wrote a letter to Kenzo 
Alvarez in regard to the child, which, to the great 
relief of all concerned, was returned unopened, just as 
Adelene’s to her father had been. 

This was open proof that the wronged husband 
would not readily overlook the fact that his Avife had 
died of heart-break, and gone unforgiven to her grave. 

It Avould be useless, the Countess of Soutliwolde 
declared, to make any attempt to befriend the child ; 
and Lord Southwolde, seeing the wisdom in this asser- 
tion, eased his conscience with the thought. And as 
years went by, the promise to his d^dng father ceased 
to trouble him, and the ver^^ existence of his dead 
sister’s child was almost forgotten. 

The story of Lady Adelene Dancourt Avas far back 
in the past ; and if the Countess of SoutliAv^olde, avIio 
had once so strongly condemned her and caused her 
husband to prove unfaithful to his father, his sister, 
and her child, remembered it, she never referred to it 
or brought it back to Lord SoutliAvolde’s mind. 

Archibald and Maud, the children of the Earl and 
Countess of Southwolde, grew into manhood and 
Avomanhood. Often from their mother’s lips had they 
heard the history of the Dancourts ; yet neither of 
them kneAA^ the sad story of beautiful Lady Adelene, 
Aiffiose SAveet face had once brightened the picture- 
gallery walls at Merivale, but whose place had for 
twenty years been vacant. 


10 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHII^E AND SHADOW. 


CHAPTEE II. 

A CHILDHOOD BETROTHAL. 

Twenty years had made but little changes in the 
appearance of Merivale. Perhaps there were a few 
traces of the ravages of time. A fallen chimney or a 
decaying wing might have shown that the place was a 
little older ; and here and there, where once a flonrish- 
ing tree had stood in all the pride and beauty of life, 
destructive lightning or age had done its work, and 
like a slain giant it had fallen with outstretched limbs, 
soon to grow brown and crisp and waste away. Yet in 
some places the very sun fell in the same peculiar 
way, and the leaves on the trees made the same shad- 
ow they had when little Adelene Dancourt had traced 
the outlines on the wall with her tiny fingers and de- 
clared it to be the figure of a “great big man.” 

Inside of Merivale, more than out, the changes had 
been wrought. 

The Earl and Countess of Southwolde were no longer 
young, their children were no longer children ; and 
Lady Southwolde often sighed as she looked in her 
mirror and discerned a wrinkle on her face, or a gray 
hair peeping out from beneath her puffs. 

It seemed but a short time since her girlhood days ; 
yet there was her son Archie, Lord Dancourt, and her 
daughter Lady Maud, both fully grown up, and suffi- 
cient proof of the years that had flown by since she 
first became mistress of Merivale. 

But, indeed, of her children Lady Southwolde was 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 11 

justly proud. Worldly minded and Sliallow in most 
other things, her heart throbbed with true motherly 
love for her fair daughter and the manly heir of Meri- 
vale. Their joy was her joy, their sorrow her sorrow ; 
and for her either of their sakes she Avould have 
endured almost any j^ang. 

There was no one who knew her but that knew of 
her passionate love for them. Even the Earl of South- 
wolde himself had often scolded her for her foolish 
fondness for them, telling her that she would ruin 
their dispositions for life. 

But the Countess seemed to have no fear of this ; 
and even though Lady Maud grew up proud and 
rather overbearing, the devoted mother did not think 
it a fault. Even as a child, she had never once cor- 
rected her for treating an inferior with coldness and 
disdain. Often she would laugh and say : “ Maud is 
myself over and over. She is a true aristocrat.” 

The haughty girl did indeed resemble her mother. 
There was no one who could deny that ; but Lady 
Maud was far more beautiful than the Countess of 
Southwolde had ever been. Some had declared her 
to be too tall or too pale — all had agreed that she was 
too cold and proud ; but those who admired the white 
lily or the statuesque style of beauty, were fully satis- 
fied with Lady Maud Dancourt. . 

Lady Southwolde at least was contented with her. 
In her eyes, there was no more perfect beauty on earth 
than Maud’s. Had she not created a furor in London 
last season, and refused a duke because of an engage- 
ment made in childhood between herself and Lord 
Charleroy ? 

The Countess had fretted much over the loss of this 


12 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


brilliant offer. She would gladly have consented for 
her daughter to become the Duchess of Ellesmere; 
but Lady Maud was loyal to the man to whom she 
considered herself formally betrothed. 

“ You will some day regret it, Maud, if you throw 
away this splendid opportunity for Lord Charleroy’s 
sake,” Lady Southwolde had told her. “ It was a 
foolish contract after all, and not in the least binding. 
Lord Charleroy will never expect you to fulfil it, I 
am quite sure.” 

But Lady Maud refused to see it in this light. She 
knew the story of her childhood betrothal quite as 
well as her mother, and never had she thought of her- 
self as mistress of any other home but Eloradene, 
where all the Charleroys had lived and died. 

True, the contract had only been made between her 
father and Elwood, Lord Charleroy’s father when they 
were children romping together on the terrace at 
Merivale ; but the remembrance of a handsome boyish 
face and a pair of strong arms that had caught and 
held her after an exciting chase to imprint upon her 
lips the kiss of parting, had lived with the proud 
daughter of the Earl of Southwolde through many 
years. 

Basil Charleroy and Eobert Dancourt were the 
truest of boyhood friends, neither having a secret 
thought from the other, both loving each other with 
a sort of Damon and Pythias loyalty, that did not 
lessen with passing years. 

Eloradene was a magnificent estate adjoining Meri- 
vale ; and though Basil, Lord Charleroy was several 
years Eobert’s senior, and had, long before the latter 
thought of marriage, taken to his luxurious home a 


iZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 13 

wife, the intimacy of their boyhood days was still 
kept up. And afterward, when both were wed, and 
Lord Dancourt had become the Earl of Southwolde, 
and they had children of their own, it seemed but 
natural that the son of Floradene and the daughter of 
Merivale should be meant for each other. 

It would not only be the uniting of a long and true 
friendship, but it would be the joining of an old and 
honored name and a splendid estate. It was just the 
thing that the master of Floradene and the master of 
Merivale desired ; and when the little Maud was born 
and Lord Charleroy had looked upon her fair baby 
face as she lay in her cradle, he had said to Lord 
Southwolde : 

“ This is a wife for Elwood, Kobert. Let us raise 
them for each other. I could wish for no better Lady 
Charleroy of Floradene.” 

And vastly pleased with the suggestion, the Earl of 
Southwolde promised the hand of his baby daughter 
then and there. But it was not until some years later 
when Basil, Lord Charleroy lay on his death-bed that 
the Contract was sealed. Then it was mutually settled 
that the hand of Lady Maud Dancourt and Elwood, 
Lord Charleroy should some day be joined in the 
sacred bonds of matrimony. 

Even the Countess of Southwolde was then pleased 
and satisfied with the arrangement ; but it was only a 
few months after the old master of Floradene’s death 
ere the young lord, and the future bride that had been 
selected for him parted — for his bereaved mother 
could not bear to remain in the house where her hus- 
band had died. And as years went by and Maud grew 
into lovely woomanhood, the prospect that opened up 


14 


izma; or, sunshine and shadow. 


before lier seemed so brilliant that the Countess began 
to look even higher for her daughter than Lady 
Charleroy, mistress of Floradene. 

She had heard of the present Lady Charleroy’s 
death in Italy, whither the family had gone, and, later 
on, of the marriage of the only daughter of the house 
to Lord Thoresby of Scotland; and as Elwood, Lord 
Charleroy still remained away and did not return to 
Floradene, the Countess began to think he had either 
entirely forgotten his father’s contract with the Earl 
of Southwolde or that he did not mean to fulfil it at 
all. 

Vague rumors, too, had reached her ears of that 
young man’s wildness. Of all the Charleroys, she had 
heard that Elwood was by far the most reckless. On 
one occasion, Archie Dancourt had gone to Monte 
Carlo and there met Lord Charleroy, the playfellow 
of his childhood; and he had returned to Merivale with 
the information that Elwood w^as wasting the Charle- 
roy fortune. 

Lady Maud refused to credit it; but the Earl, who 
had seen so much of young manhood, was less san- 
guine. He said but little on the subject, but it was 
evident that he was troubled; and when the Duke of 
Ellesmere had proposed to his daughter, he had said 
to her : 

“ Wait until you have seen Lord Charleroy and 
judged him; then you can use your pleasure. If he is 
a man in the true sense of the word, he will in due 
time come to you.” 

But though letters passed between Lord Charleroy 
and Archie Dancourt often after that meeting at Monte 
Carlo, the master of Floradene said nothing about 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


15 


returning to his estate or coming to claim Lady Maud 
Dancourt for a wife. 

Still, Lady Maud’s faith was not shaken. 

She had not lain eyes on Lord Charleroy since boy- 
hood; yet remembering his handsome, patrician face 
as it then was, she could not believe him other than a 
man of honor. And with such a trust as hers, it was im- i 
possible for the Countess to convince her of her folly. 

There was nothing left her but to await patiently 
the uncertain result, although she never tired of prais- 
ing the Duke of Ellesmere or lost an opportunity of 
bringing to her daughter’s mind the prize that she had 
lost. 

But the time came when even Lady Maud began to 
grow less hopeful. Her pride had received a severe 
wound in the thought that Lord Charleroy had slighted 
the hand of the daughter of the Earl of Southwolde. 
She was disappointed and astonished, although loth 
to believe the master of Floradene less a nobleman 
than she had pictured him in her mind. 


CHAPTEE III. 

THE earl’s misfortune. 

The sunbeams dancing with glee among the gera- 
niums in the windows of the spacious dining-room at 
Merivale on this fair June morning, and bathing the 
fluttering canaries in their gilded cages with its warm 
light, touched tenderly the yellow hair of Lady Maud 
Dancourt, and sported amongst the cut-glass and 


16 


IZMA ; OE, SFNSHINE AND SHADOW, 


painted cliina on tlie table, causing the large solitaire 
on the Countess of Soutbwolde’s fore finger to flash 
and sparkle as she toyed with the spoon in her tiny, 
egg-shell cup, and mingle with the sun’s bright rays. 

There was a perturbed frown on Lady Southwolde’s 
face that increased with each moment. 

At length, having glanced impatiently several times 
toward the door, she looked at her daughter, who was 
gazing dreamily across the table, out through the win- 
dow, and exclaimed : 

“ It is really too provoking, Maud, that Archie and 
the Earl ” (she always called her husband “ the Earl ” 
when displeased with him) “ must always be late for 
breakfast. One finds no comfort in a meal partaken 
of alone.” 

“ Even with one’s daughter, ma mere ?” said Lady 
Maud, with a slow smile, without turning her eyes 
toward her mother. 

It is not that I ignore you, my dear,” replied the 
Countess, still frowning. “ The Earl is at all times a 
slow man, but at breakfast he is exasperating. It has 
been exactly a half-hour since I came into the dining- 
room ” — looking up at the clock. 

‘‘It is Archie, no doubt,” said Lady Maud, her eyes 
roving from their dreamy stare out the window toward 
the door. “ I think Lord Dancourt began life with the 
determination of driving every one at Merivale mad.” 

Lady Southwolde sighed. 

“ Life at best, my dear, is a bed of thorns if one 
does not trample care heedlessly under foot.” 

“ Archie is very thoughtless,” continued Lady 
Maud, without seeming to have heard her mother’s 
remark. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. Vl 

Thouglitless, but good,” agreed the Countess. 

What would Merivale be without him ?” 

“ A place of quiet and rest, at all events,” retorted 
Lady Maud, with a shrug of her graceful shoulders. 
“A place, I dare say ” — with another slow smile, that 
showed her even white teeth — where breakfast 
would not grow cold because the son and father must 
have a discussion in the smoking-room or hall.” 

Lady Southwolde made no reply, but continued to 
rattle her spoon and look cross first at the dishes and 
then at the door. Lady Maud leaned back in her 
chair with the air of one having gained the better part 
of the argument; and silence ensued between them. 

This, however, could not last long. 

Presently Lady Southwolde glanced up again, looked 
at her daughter, whose eyes were turned away, glanced 
down at her plate half nervously, and, after another 
moment of thoughtful silence, inquired : 

“ How long has it been, Maud, since Archie heard 
from Lord Charier oy?” 

Lady Maud started, and a fiush of something like 
mortification crept up to her fair, proud face. 

“ You should know as well as I, mother; but — but I 
think it has been quite a while,” she admitted re- 
luctantly. 

“ True — several months, I believe,” said the Count- 
ess, heedless of the reproach her daughter’s words 
conveyed. “ How little he must value Floradene !” 

And the prospect of the Earl of Southwolde’ s 
daughter for a wife,” added Lady Maud, with a bitter- 
ness that the Countess had never before seen her dis- 
play. “ You cannot hide your meaning from me, 
mother.” 


18 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE . AND SHADOW. 

“ You misjudge me, my dear,” replied Lady South- 
wolde kindly ; “ but it is true that I cannot like Lord 
Charleroy for his conduct.” 

Lady Maud’s eyes grew moist with wounded pride 
and vexation. 

“ I would rather not speak of it,” she said, a pained 
expression crossing her face. 

“But, Maud, my dear child, I see that you are 
allowing this affair to trouble you ; and it grieves me 
more than I can tell. You are very foolish. What is 
Lord Charleroy to one of your beauty and station? 
You are only twenty, and I dare say are yet to meet 
the man you will love.” 

Lady Maud laughed in spite of her vexation. 

“How very serious you are, mother!” she ex- 
claimed. “ Perhaps I am foolish ; but no girl likes to 
be slighted.” 

“ Young people should never give way to annoying 
thoughts, Maud ; but,” — with a deep sigh and a regret- 
ful glance in a mirror beyond her — “ when one gets 
my age—” 

“ Why, mother, didn’t I hear you tell old Lord 
Hyde last season that you were only thirty-five ? I 
thought it awfully clever in you, but — ” 

“Archibald!” 

The voice from the doorway had broken in upon 
Lady Southwolde’s words, causing her to start and turn 
her eyes that way and give vent to that one word 
“ Archibald ” in a severe tone as she beheld the hand- 
some, laughing face of her son. 

“ Archibald, never allow your father to hear you say 
that,” she continued reprovingly, as Lord Dancourt 
advanced into the room. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


19 


“ Trust to me for that, mother,” he replied, with a 
confidential wink, as he took his seat at the table. “ I 
have too much consideration for the domestic bliss to 
make such an exposure.” 

“But why have you kept us waiting, my son?” 
asked the Countess, striving to look incensed, but fail- 
ing. “ Breakfast is already spoiled.” 

“ I beg forgiveness,” said Lord Dancourt, contritely; 
“ but I met Stevens on my way down stairs and re- 
lieved him of his mail. There were several letters for 
myself ; and seeing that they were likely to be import- 
ant, I paused to read them before coming into the 
dining-room.” 

“But your father, — what of him?” asked Lady 
Southwolde, growing positively cross again. 

“I delivered his mail to him, mother dear, and he 
too seemed to be engrossed ; as I passed the smoking- 
room and saw him actually buried in the depths of a 
letter.” 

Lady Southwolde’s eyes began to flash. She arose 
from the table and gave her chair a little vicious push, 
starting towards the door with an air that said plainly, 
“ I’ll learn the meaning of this ;” but Archie laughed 
outright and caught her by the hand as she was pass- 
ing him. 

“ Come, mother,” he said, “ here are letters for 
yourself and Maud also ; and besides that I have rather 
an interesting piece of news.” 

As he spoke, he drew several letters from his inner 
pocket, and gave half into his mother’s hand and 
tossed the others to Lady Maud. 

The Countess quietly resumed her seat. 


20 12MA ; OB, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW* 

“Whom does the news concern?” she asked with 
the natural curiosity of her sex. 

Lady Maud, who was breaking the seal of a letter, 
paused to hear her brother’s answer. 

“ It is concerning Lord Charleroy,” he replied. 
“ He is coming back to Floradene.” 

The Countess gave a cry of surprise, and Lady Maud, 
forgetting her self-control, sprang to her feet, her 
cheeks flushing, her eyes glowing with a pleased 
light. 

“ Coming to Floradene ! Are you sure ?” she cried, 
a little thrill of triumph in her voice, unconsciously 
placing her hand to the filmy lace at the throat of her 
pale blue morning gown. 

“ It is hardly possible that there is a mistake,” re- 
plied Archie ; “ as the letter which announces his in- 
tended return is written from Paris by Lord Charle- 
roy ’s own hand.” 

“And when does he expect to arrive ?” asked Lady 
Southwolde, evidently pleased in spite of all her former 
protestations. 

“ The twenty-fifth, I believe,” said Archie, taking 
the letter from his pocket and searching its pages again 
to make sure of the date. “ Yes, the twenty-fifth ; and 
he returns to Floradene, he writes, to remain. I think 
from what he says that he has sold their idlla in 
Italy.” 

“Sold it!” gasped the Countess; “the beautiful 
villa that Lady Charleroy in her lifetime so greatly 
prized 1 What manner of man is this Lord Charle- 
roy?” 

“ That remains to be proven,” said Lord Dancourt. 
“ The twenty-fifth is only two weeks from to-day.” 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 21 

'‘True. We can surely wait until then.” 

“ It is enough to know that he is not a man devoid of 
honor, as you believed him, mother,” said Lady Maud, 
with a smile ; who, in her excitement, had entirely for- 
gotten breakfast, and had pushed her chair from the 
table preparatory to quitting the room. 

“ Has it yet been proven?” asked the Countess, un- 
willing to give in. 

“ Not entirely ; but the first step has been taken,” 
replied Lady Maud, proudly. I think the time will 
come when you will see that I am right.” 

“ Has Lord Southwolde heard it?” asked the Count- 
ess. 

“ I think not — at least not from me,” replied Archie. 
“ But it seems that he does not intend to come into 
the dining-room this morning. Perhaps he desires 
some one to come in search of him. . 

“ I will go,” said Lady Southwolde, rising ; and 
this time she went from the room without detention. 

* * * * *■ * 

The Countess was astonished and startled when she 
entered the smoking-room and found her husband sit- 
ting there at the open window, heedless of the hot sun 
that poured in upon him, his face pale and full of suf- 
fering, his head bowed, and in his hand, clutched 
tightly, an open letter. His eyes were fixed on the 
carpet in a gloomy, troubled stare, and he neither saw 
Lady Southwolde as she entered the room nor heard 
her when she spoke to him. 

“ Eobert !” she called uneasily, but he did not raise 
his eyes or look toward her. 

“Eobert! are you ill?” she cried, alarmed at last 
and quickly approaching him. 


^2 iZMA ; OB, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

He glanced up with a start, and she saw that his 
very lips were pale. 

“ What is it, my dear?” he asked wearily. 

“ You are ill, Kobert ! What has happened ? What 
bad news have you had?” cried Lady Southwolde, in 
a quick, apprehensive tone, falling on her knees beside 
his chair, and taking his cold hand in her own. 

This show of sympathy, which was so unusual for 
the Countess of Southwolde, seemed to touch the dis- 
tressed Earl. He drew her head down to his bosom, 
caressing it tenderly, and, in a voice that w^as hoarse 
and unsteady, said : 

‘‘ Don’t alarm yourself, Lura. I am not ill. Wait 
until I have collected myself, and you shall know all.” 

“ But you are as pale as death, and your hands are 
shaking,” persisted the Countess, trembling with 
dread. “ Let me do something for you, Robert.” 

“ You cannot help me — no one can,” he replied 
huskily, passing his hand across his damp forehead. 

“ But let me share your trouble, my husband,” she 
pleaded. “ Tell me what it is that distresses you. I 
cannot bear this suspense.” 

“ Good heaven, Lura ! How can I tell you of my 
weakness?” the Earl burst out despairingly. “Even 
my children will blame and despise me when they 
know.” 

Lady Southwolde drew back in alarm. 

“ Is it so bad as that ?” she asked fearfully. 

“ It could not be worse,” he bitterly declared. “ Can 
you imagine a more terrible blow than the sacrifice of 
Merivale, together with all the Southwolde estates?” 

The Countess sprang to her feet, her eyes wide open 
with actual terror. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


23 


‘‘Robert! Robert!” she gasped. “I cannot even 
imagine such a thing. The very thought is maddening ! 
What are you saying, Lord Southwolde ? What do 
you mean? Great God ! It cannot be that — ” 

Her voice broke oil and choked in her throat, her 
face paled to a deathly hue, and she staggered back, 
staring at her husband with distended eyes, but unable 
to proceed further. 

“ That I am a ruined man,” finished the Earl of 
Southwolde, desperately. “ Though heaven knows I 
would have spared you this if it had been possible. 
I have been weak and imprudent, but I have suffered 
for my sin. Other men have done the same before 
me; yet there is no excuse for me. Blame me as you 
will — you cannot say too much.” 

He buried his wretched face in his hands, and a 
groan of anguish burst from his lips, but the Countess 
did not approach him. Stunned and bewildered by 
the sudden blow, she stood there pale and speechless, 
staring at him with a look of horror in her eyes. 

The Earl looked up again, and the expression on his 
drawn face was piteous. 

“ You know, Lura,” he continued, “ the estates have 
brought us but small profits this year, and our ex- 
penses have been very great ; so last winter when I 
was in London, and Mr. Lawton, my solicitor, came 
to me and informed me of the condition of my affairs, 
saying that my fund was not near so great as it had 
been, I did not hesitate to embark in a certain invest- 
ment which seemed to hold great promise, even though 
I was compelled to mortgage almost the whole of the 
Southwolde estate to undertake it, so sure was I that 


M IZMA ; OR, SUNSHIISE AND SHADOW. 

the money would double itself and retrieve my failing 
fortune. 

“ The prospect seemed glorious. If all went well, — 
and I could not believe that it would be otherwise, — 
the inheritance to which Archie, Lord Dancourt would 
succeed would be the richest of all the Southwoldes. 
No Earl of Merivale would ever have left his son more 
handsomely endowed. I was so certain of success 
that even the mortgages did not trouble me. I had a 
whole year in which to redeem the estate, and ere that 
time, I thought, I would be amply able to lift the 
claim. 

However, I said nothing of the transaction to any 
one — it was between myself and my solicitor alone ; 
for I felt that the surprise and pleasure would be 
greater to you, Lura, when I came to you and told, 
you of my good fortune, if you never knew of the loan 
on the estate of Southwolde. But ” — here his voice 
broke and his lips quivered with pain — ‘‘ with all my 
hope and fancied security, the investment failed me. 
Here in my hand is the letter from Mr. Lawton, which 
informs me of the terrible fact. In six months the 
mortgage will be called in, and I cannot meet its de- 
mand. The world must then know that I am a ruined 
man — a record which was never before left by an Earl 
of Southwolde.” 

The despair on Lady Southwolde’ s face could not 
be pictured, as she had stood there, grasping tightly 
with one hand the back of a chair, while her husband 
had told her the story of their ruin. 

Eor the first time she spoke, and her voice was hoarse 
and hollow, 

^‘Do you realize the enormity of your crime, my 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. ‘25 

lord?” she asked. “You have robbed your son of 
his inheritance — yes, robbed him.” 

“It is true,” said the Earl, humbly. “I can leave 
him nothing. God help me !” 

“ And you have ruined your daughter’s happiness,” 
continued the Countess, mercilessly. “When she 
learns the truth, it will break her proud heart.” 

“ But if she marries Lord Charleroy — ” the Earl be- 
gan hopefully. But Lady Southwolde interrupted him 
Avith a hysterical laugh, saying disdainfully : 

“ Lord Charleroy ! Hoav can she marry him now, 
if reports be true ? Oh, it would be a pitiful ending 
to your foolish contract, my lord ! Lord Charleroy, 
who had wasted the fortune of his ancestors, and Lady 
Maud, the daughter of a bankrupt Earl ! Oh, it will 
kill my poor child — I am sure it Avill kill her !” 

And the Countess, losing all pOAver of self-control, 
threAV herself upon her knees, and, burying her face 
in the cushions of the chair, burst into a despairing 
fit of weeping. 

The Earl arose, and, going to her, placed his hand 
on her head. 

“ Pray be calm, Lura. For God’s sake, don’t give 
way like this,” he besought her. “ All hope may not 
yet be gone. Perhaps something Avill turn up to save 
us. Look up ! Some one will hear you, and Archie 
and Maud will be coming to the spot.” 

“ Why should I care ? TJiey must know the truth,” 
she replied, sobbing bitterly. 

The Earl knelt down and took her tenderly in his 
arms. 

“They must not know until the last hour, Lura,” he 


2() iZMA ; OR, SUNSHIKE AND SHADOW. 

declared. “ Wliy should we not bear the sorrow for 
them until we can no longer bear it ?” 

“Yes, yes, we will. We will shield our children 
until there is no longer a hope,” consented the un- 
happy Countess ^ readily, growing calmer with the 
thought. 


CHAPTEE IV. 

ME. Lawton’s visit. 

In all her life, the Countess of Southwolde had never 
experienced such a bitter trial as enduring in secret 
the terrible sorrow which weighed upon her heart. But 
for her children’s sake she kept her promise; and after 
the first outburst of pain and despair, she bore bravely 
up, keeping her composure so well that no one even 
suspected that anything at Merivale had gone wrong. 

Lady Maud seemed happier than usual, and talked 
much of Lord Charleroy’s return, wondering what he 
would be like, and what he would say to her when 
they met ; asking her mother over and over if she 
thought he would be pleased with her beauty, and if 
he would remember their childhood frolics, and how 
they parted on that day so long ago. 

Lady Southwolde would always reply in a manner 
that pleased her; but at the same time she would groan 
inwardly with pain, and look at the unsuspecting girl 
pityingly, as she thought of the sword suspended by 
a single hair over her fair head. 

The Earl of Southwolde looked forward to the re- 
turn of Lord Charleroy, the son of his boyhood friend, 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 27 

with but little hope now, since his great misfortune ; 
for it was just as the Countess had said — it would be 
a poor match for the master of Floradene, as well as 
Lady Maud. Neither of them could be expected to 
fulfil the promise made by their parents, in their 
childhood. 

The thought was indeed a sore regret to the im- 
poverished Earl, for his greatest desire had been to 
hold the contract with Basil Charleroy sacred ; but 
now he almost dreaded the meeting that he had once 
so much desired, between his daughter and the pres- 
ent Lord Charleroy. 

He knew not what would be the issue of the meet- 
ing ; and if they should chance to fall in love with each 
other, he thought, it would only make matters worse. 
He did not know how eagerly Lady Maud looked 
forward to the day that she would once again see the 
face of the boy for whom she had wept long years 
before at parting, and that she was counting the days 
that intervened between the day that Archie received 
his letter and the twenty-fifth, just as if he had indeed 
been her true, acknowledged lover. 

However, the Earl knew that she had refused all 
other offers of marriage because of that early be- 
trothal, and the possibility of her learning to care for 
Lord Charleroy was no longer a pleasure to him. 

He spoke with his wife on the subject, but she gave 
him no encouragement. 

“Well,” she said, “suppose they do fall in love 
with each other. Lord Southwolde. What then ?” 

“ Why, it would be the very Tvorst thing that could 
happen !” the Earl cried. “ Even if Lord Charleroy 
had not been extravagant he could not begin to save mo 


28 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


with justice to himself, and — I might as well be plain 
with you, Lura — I can see no other means of saving 
ourselves, except through our children. If Maud could 
succeed in marrying a rich husband, or Archie could 
find a rich wife before the six months are out, it 
would indeed be a blessing. No one need ever know 
that we were trembling on the brink of ruin.” 

But the Countess gave a hopeless sigh of despair. 

Such a thing is an impossibility, my lord, in such 
a short length of time,” she declared. “We might as 
well speak of raising the money. The Duke of Elies- 
mere, whom I believe is still in love with Maud,. went> 
abroad when she refused him, and there is- nodikeli-- 
hood of him returning; and as for Archie-^wellJ it is. 
simply madness to think if him seeking a wife. He- 
will not, I assure you, unless you tell him the wholes 
truth; and then he would not be satisfied unless' he- 
found a woman he loved. But he is yet so young to^ 
think of marriage, Eobert!” — regretfully. 

“A man at twenty-three is quite old enough to 
know his own mind,” said the Earl, decisively. 

“ But he may change it when he grows older.” 

“ Not if he is the right sort of a man ; and Archie is 
that, I think.” 

“ At all events, there is no hope from that source ; 
I feel quite sure of it,” said the Countess, dolefully. 
And Lord Southwolde too felt that this was true 
enough, and became more and more discouraged with 
each day that passed. 

A week had gone by when Mr. Lawton, who had 
been the family solicitor of the Dancourts for years, 
and whose interests he looked after the same as he did 
his very own, came down from London to Merivale for 


IZMA. ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 29 

the sole purpose of having a private talk with the 
Earl. 

Lord Southwolde was surprised but pleased when 
the name of that worthy gentleman was announced ; 
and he went into his presence with his heart beating 
rather faster than usual, feeling sure that the visit 
meant something either in his favor or against him. 

Mr. Lawton, who was a small man, with shrewd, 
dark eyes and bushy gray beard, arose as the Earl en- 
tered the room, and shook his hand warmly. 

“ Believe me, my lord,” he said, ‘‘ my heart is with 
you in your trouble.” 

“ I do, my friend, most assuredly, I do,” replied 
Lord Southwolde, sincerely. ‘‘ But tell me, is there 
no hope for me in this unfortunate matter ?” 

Mr. Lawton reseated himself and drew his brows 
down thoughtfully, beating a tat-too with his nails on 
the marble of the table at his side. 

“ It seems to me that you have been very rash, my 
lord,” he said not unkindly. 

Yet the thought is little comfort to me, Mr. Law- 
ton,” the Earl replied with an impatient laugh. “ There 
is no man but that will tell me the same, now that I 
have lost.” 

True,” admitted the solicitor, with a smile. I 
meant no reproach. We are all prone to mistakes.” 

“ But you did not even advise me against it,” said 
the Earl. 

“ Because I would have done the same thing myself. 
Lord Southwolde. That is why I am so anxious tq 
help you.” 

The Earl for a moment looked hopeful, 


30 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“Do you think it possible that the loan could be 
renewed, Mr. Lawton ?” he asked. 

The solicitor shook his head decisively. 

“No indeed,” he said, “it could not. I ascertained 
that fact most positively before coming here. I went 
to see the attorneys through whom the money was bor- 
rowed, a few days before leaving London, and had a 
talk with them.” 

“ What did they say ?” asked the Earl, eagerly. 

“ That the gentleman to whom the money they had 
loaned belonged was already greatly displeased with 
the transaction, and that under no circumstances could 
the mortgage be renewed. The fact was, they said, 
the money had been put out according to their own 
counsel, and they had written nothing concerning it to 
the gentleman in question at the time, as his resi- 
dence was in Spain, and they had been appointed sole 
agents for him in England over two hundred thousand 
pounds. The gentleman is immensely wealthly, and 
seldom troubles himself concerning the interest of the 
money in his English advisers’ hands, leaving it en- 
tirely with them to invest for him or do with it as 
they willed ; but it happened that a few months ago he 
wrote to them and inquired after this money. 

“The solicitors, of course, answered at once and 
gave him the details of their ti^ansactions ; and what 
was their surprise on receiving a stormy letter from 
that gentleman in reply ? Their management in the 
case of the mortgage on Southwolde, without his con- 
sent, was indeed deplorable, he wrote them ; and if he 
had known, the Earl of Southwolde should not have had 
a shilling at his hands. He bade them close the loan 
^t once if possible ; but this of course cannot be done 


iZMA ; OR, SUJ^SHINE AND SHADOW. SI 

Until the year is out. You are safe until then, my 
lord ; but I thought it best to come down and tell you 
this as soon as I had heard it.” 

The Earl had listened attentively to every word, 
and his face had grown pale and perplexed as Mr. 
Lawton proceeded. As the latter ceased speaking, 
there was a moment of troubled silence between them, 
and then Lord Southwolde looked up, saying : 

“ This is very strange, Mr. Lawton. I should think 
that a mortgage on Southwolde would be deemed as 
safe as anything. Who is this man from whom the 
money is borrowed? I left it all so entirely with you 
at the time that I did not even learn the man’s name 
who now has such a claim upon Southwolde.” 

“I can tell you nothing about him,” said Mr. Law- 
ton, “except that his signature is Eenzo Alvarez.” 

If a thunderbolt had exploded at the feet of the 
Earl of Southwolde, the effect could not have been 
more startling than the pronunciation of that name in 
connection with his great misfortune. He sprang to 
his feet with a hoarse, incredulous cry, exclaiming 
wildly : 

“ Eenzo Alvarez ! Great God ! No, no, Mr. Law- 
ton, you have made some terrible mistake ! It is im- 
possible ! The man to whom I am indebted is not 
Eenzo Alvarez !” 

The solicitor was amazed ; for he knew nothing of 
the past and the unfortunate marriage of Lady Ade- 
lene Dancourt, as it was a subject never referred to by 
the Earl. He could not understand this suddei? out- 
burst. 

“I have told you the truth, my lord,” he said 
earnestly. “There is no mistake. The man that 


!ZMA ; 6E, SlTN6Hli?E AiifD SHADOW. 

holds the mortgage over Southwolde is indeed Eenzo 
Alvarez.” 

“Then, God help me!” groaned the Earl, dropping 
back into his chair with a hopeless look of despair. 
“I am without doubt a ruined man, Mr. Lawton.” 

“ I do not in the least comprehend you, my lord,” 
said the solicitor, apologetically. 

“ Of course you do not ; but if you did, you cannot 
help me now,” replied the Earl, bitterly. 

“Let me hear and judge for myself,” urged Mr. 
Lawton. And knowing that he could safely put his 
trust in this upright solicitor, who had served him 
since the first years of his succession to the earldom 
of Southwolde, the Earl did not hesitate to tell him 
the whole story of his half-sister’s marriage which had 
darkened the last years of both her own and her 
father’s life. He did not even omit his own failure to 
fulfil the promise made to his father on his death- 
bed, saying that heaven was taking vengeance upon 
him at last. 

When he had finished Mr. Lawton arose to go, and 
there was little encouragement in his face. 

“You were right, my lord,” he said. “You can ex- 
pect nothing — no leniency — from the hands of Eenzo 
Alvarez. If you will pardon me, I should, under the 
circumstances, feel bitter towards every living Dan- 
court myself. It is very, very hard for you ; but I can 
only bid you hope. There are several months yet be- 
fore you ; and you may trust me to do all in my power 
to save you from ruin.” 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


33 


CHAPTEE V. 

A FAINT HOPE. 

But all cheering words were now lost on the Earl of 
Southwolde. Nothing could have been more bitter to 
him than the knowledge that Southwolde must fall 
into the hands of Eenzo Alvarez, the man whose very 
name at Merivale had so long been scorned and de- 
spised. The blow of the failure itself had not been 
more crushing to him. It seemed to him now that he 
could have endured all else better than this last 
humiliation. 

Was it retribution? Had Nemesis laid hands upon 
Merivale at last ? 

Often in his dreams the Earl had seen the beautiful 
face of his sister. Lady Adelene ; and her eyes had al- 
ways looked at him with anger and reproach. Once 
she had appeared before him in his study and bidden 
him to follow her, and powerless to refuse, he had 
obeyed. She had led him up the stairs, down the 
dark upper corridor, and reaching the door of the 
picture gallery she had opened it and glided noise- 
lessly within. Swiftly, but like a shadow, she had 
moved down its gloomy length, between the tall por- 
traits of the Earls and ladies of Southwolde, that 
looked awfully life-like in the semi-darkness, never 
pausing until she had reached the farthest corner 
where her own picture, with its face downward, lay. 
Here she stopped and turned toward him with a face 
as stern and pale as marble, pointing to the discarded 


34 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


portrait there on the floor. The Earl reached forth 
his hand and attempted to speak to her, but quickly^ — 
suddenly — she vanished into mist, and only the echo 
of her wild, mocking laughter rang through gallery 
and corridor. 

The Earl awoke, startled and trembling, and the 
dream bore upon his mind no little until he had had 
the portrait removed from the gallery and placed in a 
closet where it might never fall beneath his sight. 

“Poor Adelene! poor, unfortunate Adelene!” he 
had murmured to himself for weeks afterward when 
alone ; and his heart had ached and his conscience 
had smote him for his selfish neglect to her memory 
and her child. But it was too late now to make atone- 
ment, he told himself ; and all his good impulses were 
again soon gone. 

He never thought that some day he might bitterly 
repent having made an enemy of his sister’s hated 
husband, Kenzo Alvarez ; he never dreamed that some 
day he would be so completely in his power that he 
could be compelled to leave the shelter of grand old 
Merivale at his command. 

Long after Mr. Lawton had left him, the miserable 
Earl sat there alone in the library, trying to realize 
fully his unhappy situation, and over and over these 
words kept ringing in his ears : 

“ The mills of the gods grind slowly, 

But they grind exceeding fine.” 

Ah, how bitter, bitter it was to think that he had 
brought upon himself his own ruin. How Kenzo Al- 
varez would triumph over him, he thought, when he 
learned that he could not pay the debt on Southwolde. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


35 


It seemed to the Earl that death would be far easier 
than this public disgrace. 

“ I cannot bear it — I cannot,'^ he moaned desperately. 
“ Something must be done.” 

But what that “something” was to be, neither the 
Earl nor the Countess, in whom he confided, could 
conjecture. 

Lady Southwolde could hardly credit it when her 
husband told her they were in Benzo Alvarez’s power, 
— that it was he who held the mortgage over South- 
wolde, — it seemed so impossible. 

“ I cannot believe it,” she said in wild alarm. “ Oh, 
it is not true, Robert — it cannot be ! Renzo Alvarez 
was a poor man ; he had nothing, not even a name. 
How could he hold such an enormous mortgage over 
Southwolde ?” 

“ Much can be accomplished in twenty years, my 
dear,” the Earl replied gloomily. “There are many 
self-made men nowadays that are fabulously wealthy. 
Renzo Alvarez is doubtless one of these.” 

“And will he take Merivale from us, and come here 
to live, Robert?” the Countess asked in a gasping, 
despairing voice. 

“ It is quite probable,” said the Earl, with a mirth- 
less laugh. “ If his daughter is still alive, — and I pre- 
sume she is, having heard nothing to the contrary, — 
he will be quite pleased to make her heiress of Meri- 
vale. With their great wealth and an estate like this, 
Renzo Alvarez’s lack of a pedigree will not amount to 
much in the eyes of the world, I fancy.” 

“ My God ! it is terrible,” Lady Southwolde groaned. 

This was all she could say — further words failed her; 


e36 


IZMA ; Olt, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


for slie knew that both the Earl and herself were pow- 
erless to avert the impending calamity. 

From this day, however, the misery and suspense 
began to tell on the Countess ; for she felt that each 
sunset brought them nearer to their doom. She grew 
pale and hollow-eyed, and even her children, whom 
she looked at so often with pity, murmuring, “ Poor 
Archie, poor Maud, how will they bear it?” began to 
notice the change. 

But when they questioned her, she only replied that 
she had not been well of late; and they never doubted 
her, or suspected her secret sorrow. 

The Earl of Southwolde declared that he no longer 
had the least hope; yet, in spite of this assertion, he 
looked eagerly each day for a letter from his solicitor, 
and was always disappointed when it did not come. 

One morning, a week after Mr. Lawton’s visit, and 
a day before Lord Charleroy was expected to arrive 
at Eloradene, Lord Southwolde went into the dining- 
room earlier than usual, and found his wife already at 
the table, looking eager and flushed over a sealed let- 
ter which she held in her hand. 

She was alone, and, as he entered the room, she 
arose hastily to her feet, and came toward him. 

“ Kobert,” she said breathlessly, holding the letter 
out to him, “ here is news from Mr. Lawton, I am quite 
sure of it. I recognized his handwriting as soon as 
Stevens gave me the mail. God grant that it brings 
us hope !” 

The Earl took the letter and broke the seal with 
nervous hands, seating himself at the table as he did 
so. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


37 


The Countess resumed her place, and Lord South- 
wolde opened the business-like sheet and read : 

“Dear Lord South wolde: I learn this morning, 
through Messrs. Clarkson and Hyde, that Kenzo Al- 
varez is dead ; but do not build your hopes too high, 
as his heiress, a young girl of eighteen, survives him. 
I can write you nothing definite at present, but with 
many good wishes I am, as ever, 

“ Your friend and adviser, 

' “James Lawton.” 

In an agitated voice, the Earl had read the brief but 
astonishing message through, and Lady Southwolde, 
in her excitement, had sprung to her feet, startled and 
trembling, placing her hand over her wildly beating 
heart, and exclaiming : 

“ Dead ? Renzo Alvarez dead ? O Robert, does it 
bring us hope?” 

The Earl looked up, and his face had grown quite 
pale. 

“ I cannot tell,” he replied; “ yet it surely must be 
in our favor. If it was not for this girl—” 

“But she is so young, Robert, and a woman, too,” 
the Countess interrupted eagerly ; “ it is hardly likely 
that she will be as hard upon us as her father. She 
will know nothing of business affairs, I feel sure; and 
Renzo Alvarez’s claim on Southwolde will perhaps be 
placed entirely in his solicitors’ hands.” 

“ But they can do us equally as much harm, Lura,” 
said the Earl, fearing, as Mr. Lawton had written, ‘to 
build his hopes too high.’ 

“No, indeed, Robert, I will not think so,” replied 
Lady Southwolde. “ Messrs, Clarkson and Hyde may 


38 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


be persuaded to listen to reason, and Renzo Alvarez 
would not. We are far safer in those gentlemen’s 
hands.” 

But the Earl could not so readily feel his security. 

“ Time alone will tell,” he said. “ I think I could 
know better what to expect if I had seen Renzo AR 
varez’s daughter.” 

“ Could you not go to Spain?” asked the Countess, 
quickly. 

The Earl studied a moment before replying, then a 
sudden thought seemed to strike him. 

“ I could go, Lura,” he said; “ but I believe it will 
be far better to invite the girl to Merivale. By George, 
my dear ! I am quite sure that it is a bright idea, if 
you’ll agree to it,” he wound up, bringing his hand 
down upon the table. 

“ But will she come, after all these years, and per- 
haps knowing all the circumstances?” asked Lady 
Southwolde, evidently displeased. 

“We could try her, at least,” said the Earl, hope- 

fnlly. 

“ She will certainly understand why it is done.” 

“ How can she ? No one except Mr. Lawton knows 
that we are on the verge of ruin. She need not learn 
just at first that we are unable to repay her father’s 
loan on Southwolde ; and will it seem strange to her 
that we should remember her now, even at this late 
hour, in her sad affliction ? She is all alone since her 
father’s death; and I tell you, laying our own interests 
aside, Lura, it is right that we should show her this 
respect. It is due her that she should be invited to 
Merivale.” 

“Oh, it is so much like a parasite, Robert!” ex- 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


39 


claimed the Countess, who had not forgotten her old- 
time distaste to Renzo Alvarez’s child. 

“It looks so,” admitted Lord Southwolde ; “but if 
I had not listened to you, Lura, I would never have 
neglected my sister’s daughter at all.” 

“ Of course. Blame a woman for everything, as she 
has no means of helping herself,” snapped the Coun- 
tess, who never liked to be told of a fault. “ I must 
admit even now that I have no longing for Miss Al- 
varez’s society. She will not be welcome at Merivale, 
be assured of that. If I consent to equalizing myself 
with her, it will only be for my own interest and my 
children’s sake. If it will help to save us, she may 
come here, and I will fawn on her as much as it pleases 
you. Lord Southwolde,” contemptuously. 

“ It is the best we can do,” said the Earl, thought- 
fully ; “ there is at least hope in it. I think I will 
write to her at once.” 

“ I suppose, then, Archie and Maud are to know 
everything,” said the Countess, coldly. 

The Earl started. 

“ I had not thought of that,” he replied. Then, 
after a moment’s reflection : “ They need not know 
all. We can tell them the girl’s history, and her re- 
lation to the Dancourts. That will be sufficient.” 

Lady Southwolde sighed profoundly. 

“Ah, my lord, if you had only been wise !” 

“ But I was not, my lady, and we must make the 
best of it. If I had been — but there ! be cautious,” 
he broke off, looking toward the door. “ Here come 
Archie and Maud together, and there is not a cloud 
on their young faces. God grant that this misfortune 
may not mar their lives !” 


40 izMA ; 6 e, sunshine and shadow. 

Lady Southwolde looked up with a fond smile, that 
put to flight the troubled expression on her face, as 
her children entered the room, and she thought she 
had never seen them look so handsome. 

Ah, Southwolde could never know a better Earl than 
Archie, she thought with a wild pang of regret as she 
looked up at his handsome, noble face ; but the title 
would avail him nothing if they lost all. 

Lord Dancourt’s face was indeed one that was 
pleasing to look at. He neither resembled his father 
nor his mother ; for there was a certain firmness and 
frankness about his face that neither of them pos- 
sessed. The Earl often declared that he was a perfect 
likeness to Captain Marmaduke Dancourt, who had 
lived and died the life of a hero almost a century ago. 
Lord Dancourt expressed himself vastly flattered, and 
would frequently stand before the picture of the brave 
captain, which hung in the gallery at Merivale, and 
gaze at it with a smile of derision at the bare idea 
that he resembled that handsome, noble face. But 
the clear, deep blue eyes and curly dark brown hair 
that waved back from a high, broad, intellectual fore- 
head were indeed in both the same. Perhaps their 
mouths were different — Lord Dancourt’s might have 
been more prone to laughter; but even here there 
was a likeness, for the small brown mustache that 
darkened rather than concealed the upper lip was 
precisely the same. The captain, too, might have 
been taller — his portrait looked so for Archie was 
not above the average height. 

This picture of Captain Dancourt came into Lord 
Southwolde’s mind at once this morning as his son 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 41 

entered the dining-room ; and the resemblance between 
the two had never before so forcibly struck him. 

“ I could imagine, as I looked up, Archie, that you 
were Marmaduke Dancourt’s ghost entering,” he said, 
you are so much like him.” 

“ Then the thought must have frightened you, 
father,” Lord Dancourt replied with a smile ; “for you 
are positively paler than I have seen you for months 
past.” 

“ It is true, father,” put in Lady Maud ; “ and 
mother, too,” glancing from one to the other in sur- 
prise, “is not looking well.” 

“ We are troubled,” said the Earl, determined to 
get the worst over with at once. “Be seated' and I 
will explain to you.” 

Archie and Maud obeyed, and in wondering silence 
listening to the Earl while he told them the story of 
Lady Adelene Dancourt, which was entirely new to 
them, ending by saying that he had just received the 
intelligence of Benzo Alvarez’s death. 

Archie seemed more surprised with the story than 
Lady Maud. It was a great surprise to him. 

“ Why, father, I had not known all these years that 
you even had a half-sister,” he cried. “ It seems to 
me a cruel thing that a man should discard his only 
daughter because she had married unwisely. The 
Earl of Southwolde must have been a very hard- 
hearted man.” 

“ It was no more than she deserved, I think,” said 
Lady Maud. “I do not blame the Earl.” 

‘‘ It was not only hard-hearted, but it was inhuman, 
to let the poor girl die heart-broken and unforgiven,” 
declared Lord Dancourt, waxing warmer. “ If I had 


42 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


been in your place, father, I think I would have 
braved all and gone to her.” 

The Earl flushed ; he could not help it, with the 
clear, honest, half-reproachful eyes of his son upon 
him. 

“It was impossible,” he replied lamely. 

“ Certainly it was,” said Lady Southwolde, coming 
to the rescue. “And, beside. Lady Adelene’s conduct 
was severely censured by every one ; so much so that 
when she died and her child was left and her father 
bade Robert on his death-bed to look after it, I dared 
not allow him risk bringing the babe to Merivale, 
knowing that the public opinion would be great 
against us.” 

“ But that is all forgotten now,” assured the Earl, 
who did not desire opposition in his plan of inviting 
Miss Alvarez to Merivale. 

“ Mother was right,” defended Lady Maud. “ The 
presence of such a child at the home of the South- 
wolde’s could not have been desirable.” 

The Earl weakened, but he did not lose hope. 

“ Indeed I regret not having fulfilled my promise to 
my father,” he said. 

“I should think you would feel that way,” said 
Archie. “ But is not this girl still living ?” 

. “ Yes ; and it is of her that I wish to speak,” the 
Earl replied. “ I desire to make atonement even now, 
Archie. Since Renzo Alvarez’s death, his daughter is 
all alone. She is young, very young — only eighteen 
— and there is no one left to care for her. Why should 
we not invite her now to Merivale ?” 

“We can — we will,” agreed Lord Dancourt, eagerly. 
“ It is just what we ought to do.” 


iZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 43 

But the suggestion caused an open outburst from 
Lady Maud. 

“Father, you will not think of such a thing!” she 
cried. “ Surely, after all these years you will not 
bring that girl — this daughter of a common-born 
Spaniard — to Merivale, to be placed on an equal with 
the Earl of Southwolde’s daughter!” 

“ You must remember that her mother was the 
daughter of an earl of Southwolde,” reminded Archie, 
sharply. 

“ But there is a hHe noire in almost every family,” 
retorted Lady Maud. 

The Earl looked at his wife for encouragement. 

She gave it unwillingly. 

“ Your father knows best, my dear,” she said to her 
daughter. 

“And you, too, mother would invite her here!” ex- 
claimed Lady Maud, in surprise. 

“ If it is your father’s wish,” she replied. 

Lord Dancourt looked at her admiringly. 

He thought he had never seen his mother act so 
sensibly before. 

“ Of course. It is our duty,” he said. 

“ Duty !” sneered Lady Maud. “ It is absurd. I 
promise you that if she comes to Merivale, I shall be- 
have abominably to her.” 

Lord Southwolde looked helpless and undecided. 

Archie, seeing his hesitation, looked at Lad}^ Maud 
witheringly, then at his father, and said : 

“ If you desire to do what is right, you will not listen 
to a woman : you will look after the daughter of Lady 
Adeline Dancourt as you promised, and see that she 
has a friend. Maud is prejudiced j but I tell you it is 


44 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

monstrous to think of turning your back upon the girl 
because her mother ran away and married a man she 
loved, who did not happen to have been born of royal 
blood.” 

“ If she comes here I will not like her,” repeated 
Lady Maud, stoutly. 

“ But in this case I cannot listen to you, Maud,” 
said Lord Southwolde, desperately, rising from his 
chair. “ The invitation to Kenzo Alvarez’s daughter 
must be sent ; so there’s an end of it.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

A DISAPPOINTMENT. 

It was very seldom that Lady Maud Dancourt was 
thwarted in having her own way, and her father’s re- 
fusal to comply with her wishes in not inviting Miss 
Alvarez to Merivale had angered and astonished her. 
She had gone to her room and wept bitter tears, re- 
fusing to be comforted by her mother, who told her 
she was inclined to believe that the girl would not ac- 
cept the invitation at all. 

“She will, I feel sure of it,” sobbed the spoiled 
beauty. “Nothing could seem grander to a person of 
her kind than to come to Merivale and live with the 
Earl and Countess of Southwolde. It will be ‘ the 
Earl, my uncle,’ and ‘the Countess, my aunt.’ Oh !” 
with a burst of hysterical laughter, “ it is too much to 
endure, mother !” 

Lady Southwolde looked very downcast ; but know- 


IZMA ; oft, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 45 

ing the circuiu stances, she strove to encourage her 
daughter, for she remembered the time when her feel- 
ings had been quite the same as Lady Maud’s. 

“The girl is not poor, my dear,” ^e said; “she 
will be far frpm being a dependant.” 

But this was nothing to Lady Maud. She contin- 
ued to weep, regardless of all her mother could say 
to her, until the Countess, growing impatient, re- 
marked : 

“ You will be in a nice plight to receive Lord Char- 
leroy, if he should come to-morrow, if you continue 
at this rate, Maud. He will see by your red and 
swollen eyes that you are in trouble, mark my word 
for it.” 

“ I do not care,” she replied unhappily ; but her 
sobs ceased, and she dried her eyes instantly, in spite 
of the assertion. “ I suppose he, as well as every one 
else, must know this girl’s history and her relation to 
us anyway, when she comes.” 

“ But it is time enough to spoil your eyes, my dear, 
when the invitation has been accepted. Ah, Maud, 
you know so little yet of true unhappiness,” said Lady 
Southwolde, sadly. 

“ And what does my mother know of it ?” inquired 
Lady Maud, with an incredulous smile. 

“ More than you suspect. But, there ! why should 
we be melancholy ? Be of good cheer, darling,” said 
the Countess, consolingly, going over to her daughter’s 
chair and kissing her pale face. “ You have been 
looking very happy of late, and it pleases me to see 
you so. Live in the sunlight while you can, for the 
shadows will come soon enough. I am sure you wish 
to look well to-morrow.” 


46 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHIKE Al^B SHADOW. 


“ Yes, indeed, mother,” replied Lady Mand, recov- 
ering her spirits and smiling brightly ; “ and I promise 
you that I sh%ll.” 

“ Do you think Lord Charleroy will come to Meri- 
ville as soon as he reaches home ?” asked the Countess, 
as she started from the room. 

“ I hardly know,” answered Lady Maud ; “ yet I 
shall look for him.” 

And, indeed, the thought of Lord Charleroy’s home- 
coming soon drove all unpleasant things from Lady 
Maud’s mind. As the day wore away and visions of 
the morrow crowded into the proud but foolish girl’s 
brain. Miss Alvarez was entirely forgotten. Even the 
Earl was forgiven, and was surprised at the rare 
smile his daughter gave him when they met again, the 
following morning. 

It was just such a day as Lady Maud would have 
had it. She had fretted much the afternoon previous 
because the sun had gone under a cloud, saying that 
if it was an ugly day Lord Charleroy would be sure 
not to come to Merivale ; but when she had opened 
her eyes and seen the sunlight streaming through the 
curtains of her room, across the soft white ground and 
blue forget-me-nots of the carpet, she sprang to her 
feet and flung the window-blinds wide open, looking 
up at the cloudless blue skies and saying : 

“ Thank heaven that the day is clear ! Eloradene 
could never look better to its master than in a sun- 
shine like this. He will not be sorry to get home 
again, I fancy. How I hope that everything will 
please him !” 

And then she stopped and wondered at her own in- 
terest in all that conr^rned Lord Charleroy. Why, it 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


47 


could not be that she cared for him yet, she thought ; 
for when they parted he was only a boy. And how 
did she know that he would admire her ? He might 
even ask her to release him from their childhood be- 
trothal, saying that it was a foolish contract, and that 
the heart of the boy was not the same as that of the 
man. 

“ If it should be so, I will give him his freedom and 
forget him,” Lady Maud proudly decided. 

But she took none the less pains with her toilet that 
day. She was not sure whether Lord Charleroy would 
come to Merivale that morning, afternoon, or evening ; 
but she was determined to look well even if he should 
come upon her unawares. What woman would not ? 
Lady Maud’s vanity was not greater than the rest of 
her sex, even though she knew that there were few 
faces which could rival her own. 

Hers was a beauty, however, that needed but little 
adornment. 

The dress that she chose that day was of soft, cling- 
ing white, with pale pink rosebuds among the lace on 
her bosom and in the coils of her silky, golden hair, 
and Lord Dancourt, who seldom noticed her beauty, 
remarked that he had never seen her look fairer. 

But the morning passed and Lord Charleroy did 
not put in an appearance. Lady Maud was disap- 
pointed, but she concealed it well. 

“ Of course we should not have expected him this 
morning,” she said carelessly. “ He has hardly had 
time to arrive at Floradene.” 

But Archie contradicted it. 

“ He must have arrived there at least before six,” 


48 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


he said, “ unless something delayed him. I certainly 
expected him at Merivale this morning.” 

This was enough to vex Lady Southwolde and make 
Lady Maud very ill at ease ; and if the latter became 
restless as the hours went by and Lord Charleroy 
still did not come, she was Jiardly to be censured 
for it. 

Lord Dancourt suggested that he go to Floradene 
and learn if my lord had arrived, saying that it was 
due him that some one from Merivale should meet 
him, Tut Lady Maud strongly opposed it. 

“Let him come of his own will,” she said half in- 
dignantly. “ I am sure he has been dilatory enough 
about coming to Merivale. We need not coax him 
here.” 

“ Maud is right,” said Lady Southwole, coming into 
the drawing-room while the two were speaking, and 
hearing the remark. “ Lord Charleroy deserves to be 
let alone forever. If I were in your place, my dear,” 
to her daughter, “ I would not waste another thought 
on the master of Floradene.” 

Lady Maud walked over to the window and looked 
out, in order to conceal her vexation, which was plainly 
written on her face. 

“ Ah, well, ma mere^' she replied in an indifferent 
tone, that belied her feelings, “ we have not quite suf- 
ficient cause to condemn p oor Lord Charleroy. I dare 
say he will yet put in an appearance and satisfy us 
that his tardiness has been inevitable.” 

“ I must have good proof of it before that young 
man can clear himself in my eyes,” declared the 
Countes>s, severely, seating herself comfortably. “ Now, 
when youy father came to see me, Maud, he was in 


IZMA ; OB, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


49 


constant dread of a dismissal, I was so quick to see a 
wrong or a slight. I was only the daughter of Lord 
Hearne, of a good old name, but not an abundance of 
money ; yet I would not have yielded one inch of my 
independence to have been Countess of Southwolde 
and mistress of Merivale.” 

Lady Maud turned quickly, and there was a look of 
pain in her dark blue eyes. 

“ Mother,” she said, “ I am as proud as any girl — 
I am sure of it ; but I am just^ as well. I am deter- 
mined not to marry anyone” — firmly — “until I have 
seen Lord Charleroy ; so you might as well let me have 
my way a little while longer.” 

“ You have had your way all your life long,” replied 
the Countess, sharply. 

“ True,” admitted Lady Maud, unhesitatingly, “and 
I am not ungrateful for the indulgence.” 

“ Yet you persist in your defence of Lord Charleroy,” 
said the Countess, sighing. 

Lady Maud smiled. 

“Mother, you puzzle me,” she said. “ I remember 
the time when you were pleased for me to think well 
of the master of Floradene ; yet now you dislike him. 
Why is it?” 

Lord Dancourt, who had flung himself upon the sofa 
and taken no part in the conversation until this mo- 
ment, looked up with a light laugh, and remarked : 

“ I am sure it isn’t hard to understand. The Duke 
of Ellesmere has completely outrivalled Lord Charle- 
roy in mother’s fancy.” 

“ The Duke of Ellesmere !” repeated Lady Maud, 
scornfully. “ I would not marry him if he was the 
last man on earth. What is he, after all?’' 


50 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“ A duke, my dear,” re23lied Archie, dryly. 

“ When you have said that, it is certainly all,” de- 
clared Lady Maud, vivaciously ; “ but when one has 
seen him, the prestige of the title is entirely lost.’ 

“ The Duke is a thorough gentleman,” said the 
Countess, indignantly. 

“ Oh, certainly a gentleman — what there is of him,” 
admitted Lady Maud, coldly. 

‘‘Is there not enough of him, my dear?” asked 
Archie, laughing. 

“ I could wish for more if I was in love with him.” 

“ But think of the advantage — even though your 
husband was a duke, he would look up to you.” 

“ I do not crave the honoi,” answered Lady Maud, 
feigning to shudder. 

“ But how do you know that Lord Charleroy has 
grown tall? He may be even smaller than the Duke,” 
said Archie, teasingly. 

“ But you have seen him, and known better,” replied 
Lady Maud, anxiously. 

“ Yet you have never asked me.” 

“ I was sure that he was very tall and strong. Is 
he?” 

“ Oh, don’t worry, my dear. I dare say he will reach 
your shoulder,” consoled Lord Dancourt. 

“ Archie !” she exclaimed reproachfully. But at that 
instant the sound of carriage-wheels fell upon their 
ears, and Lord Dancourt sprang to his feet and 
hastened over to the window. Lady Maud too 
burned her head quickly and looked down the car- 
dage-drive. 

“ It must be Lord Charleroy at last,” said Archie, 


IZMA ; on, SlTNSIltNE AND SHADOW. 61 

as the horses’ heads came in sight. ‘‘ Better late 
than never !” 

“ But do not let him see ns here,” said Lady Maud, 
nervously, drawing hack behind the curtains as the 
carriage drew nearer. 

Lord Dancourt, however, did not heed the warning. 
He was determined to see who occupied the carriage, 
and, as driver drew rein and the door was opened, he 
gave vent to a cry of surprise. 

“ Maud, look quickly! It is not Lord Charleroy 1” 
he exclaimed. 

No need to call Lady Maud’s attention, for she had 
already seen through the curtains, and her heart had 
sunk with disappointment. Two ladies had alighted 
from the carriage, and the coachman had closed the door 
behind them. One was perhaps thirty, yet her face 
was quite pretty and young, and the other was a mere 
girl, whose striking beauty drew a prolonged whistle 
from Lord Dancourt’s lips, and the remark : 

By Jove ! how delighted I am that it wasn’t Lord 
Charleroy ! Maud, who the deuce is that pretty 
girl?” 

“ I am sure I have never seen her before,” replied 
Lady Maud, breathing quickly in her excitement. 
“ Mother, do you know them ?” 

Lady Southwole had arisen from her chair and come 
over to the window ; and as her daughter spoke, she 
looked out over her shoulder, and, as she saw the two 
ladies below, exclaimed in surprise : 

“ Why, the elder one looks precisely like Rita Char- 
leroy ! I do believe it is 1” 

“ Lord Charleroy’s sister ?” asked Lady Maud, ex- 
citedly. 


iZMA ; OtL, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

‘‘ Yes ; you know slie married Lord Thoresby of 
Scotland. It is she,” looking closer, “ I am sure of 
it ; though I have not seen her before in many years.” 

“But the girl,” said Archie, anxiously. “What of 
her?” 

“ I do not know her,” replied the Countess. “ We 
will soon learn, however, as they are coming in.” 

As she said this, they withdrew from the window 
and seated themselves apart from each other ; and a 
few moments later, the visitors were ushered into the 
room. 

The Countess arose to receive them, extending her 
hand with slight hesitation to the elder lady, and 
saying : 

“ Am I mistaken, or is this indeed Kity Charleroy 
of Lloradene ?” 

“ I was once that, my dear Countess,” the lady re- 
plied, advancing and warmly embracing Lady South- 
wolde. “ How pleased I am to see you again ! And 
these,*” she said, looking first at Archie and then at 
Maud, “ can these be the children that used to romp 
with Elwood?” 

“We are, my Lady,” answered Lady Maud, with a 
smile, as she arose and met Lady Thoresby, holding 
up her face to receive the kiss of greeting. “ Have we 
grown much ?” 

Lady Thoresby laughed a sweet, silvery laugh. 

“ You have at least grown handsome,” she replied. 

“ It is not our fault. Lady Thoresby, I assure you,” 
said Lord Dancourt, soberly, as he shook the small 
gloved hand held out to him. 

“ Ah, but I see now that you are the same boy that 
used to frighten all my pea-fowls off the terrace at 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 53 

Floradene, and tie tin cans to my poor old white cat’s 
tail,” said Lady Thoresby, gayly, as she looked into 
Archie’s laughing eyes. “Valerie,” turning to the 
young lady at her side, “ I beg your 23ardon ; I had 
almost forgotten you. This is Lord Dancourt, Lady 
Southwolde, and Lady Maud ; this is my husband’s 
niece, Miss Thoresby.” 

“ I fear that Miss Thoresby will not understand that 
I have outgrown my bad traits of character,” said Lord 
Dancourt, when the introduction had been acknowl- 
edged. 

“ He is still perverse, I assure you,” declared the 
Countess, laughing. “ I shall not help to impress Miss 
Thoresby falsely.” 

But Lord Dancourt, in nowise daunted, led the 
young lady over to a seat and took sole possession of 
her, forgetting even to ask about Lord Charleroy. 

Not so with Lady Maud. 

From the time Lady Thoresby had spoken, she had 
been eagerly awaiting to hear something of Lord 
Charleroy ; for she felt sure that this visit meant some- 
thing in regard to him. Yet she knew that she was to 
be disappointed. Something seemed to tell her that 
the master of Floradene had not come. Lady Thores- 
by, however, appeared to be in no hurry to mention 
her brother, and Lady Maud was compelled to join in 
the gay chatter, although her heart was somehow 
heavy and her mind was anywhere but here. She was 
in such a mood that she was quite certain that neither 
of the visitors would be very much impressed with 
her — and this was Lord Charleroy’s sister, too. More 
than once. Lady Maud’s eyes turned to the lovely, 
piquant face of Valerie Thoresby, noting the beauty 


54 


IZMl ; OR, SUNSHtNiJ AKD SHADOW. 


of its rich coloring, her dark eyes, and cnrly brown 
hair ; and wondering how long she would remain at 
Floradene, and if Lord Charleroy had seen her, and, if 
so, was it possible for him not to have fallen in love 
with her. 

At last, Lady Southwold asked the question that her 
daughter had so impatiently waited to hear. 

“ What brought you to Floradene, Lady Thoresby ?” 

“Why, I fully expected to meet my brother here,” 
was the reply. “ He wrote me that he would return 
to Floradene on the 25th, and I reached there yes- 
terday. Lord Thoresby could not well leave home at 
the time, so I brought Valerie along with me ; but 
what was my disappointment this morning on receiv- 
ing a message from Lord Charleroy saying that he 
was delayed and could not reach here for perhaps 
several days yet. I am exceedingly angry with him.” 

"It must indeed have been disappointing to you,” 
said the Countess, without the least apparent concern. 
“ But you will wait for him, will you not ?” 

“ Oh yes, I suppose we will spend some time at 
Floradene ; and Lord Thoresby, too, will come down 
in a short time. Elwood bade me in his message to 
come to Merivale at once and inform Archie also that 
he had been delayed. I suppose by that you must 
have known of his coming,” she said, looking directly 
at Lady Maud. 

“ Yes, we had heard that he intended to return,” 
the latter replied carelessly. 

“ I must admit that Elwood has disappointed me 
in some respects,” said Lady Thoresby, candidly, when 
she rose to go; “ he has been more reckless than is 
usual for the Charleroys, but, nevertheless, Maud, I 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


55 


will send him as soon as he comes and let you judge 
him, hoping at the same time that you will give him a 
good round lecture.” 

Lady Maud smiled coldly — not so much on Lady 
Thoresby as on the thoughts of Lord Charleroy, for 
never had she been so near to condemning him before. 
Even Miss Thoresby, who had been near enough to 
hear the remark, noticed that Lady Maud made no re- 
ply to it ; and when they had taken their leave, she said 
to her aunt : 

“ Lady Maud Dancourt is a very proud girl, I think. 
Do you believe she and Lord Charleroy will like each 
other ?” 

Lady Thoresby turned upon her in surprise. 

“ Why of course they will like each other,” she re- 
plied with slight indignation. “ They were the best of 
childhood friends ; and indeed there is no reason why 
Maud Dancourt should feel too proud for a Charleroy. 
You must remember, Yalerie, that in all Europe there 
is not a better name.” 

But though Miss Thoresby was silent, she had her 
own opinion ; and perhaps my lady herself would have 
been less certain of her brother’s future if she had 
seen Lady Maud that night when alone in her room — 
how she wept tears of anger and wounded pride, saying 
that when Lord Charleroy came to Merivale, if he ever 
did, she would tell him that she was not foolish enough 
to expect him to fulfil their childhood betrothal ; tha t 
he was free to love and wed whom he would. 


56 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


CHAPTEE VII. 

‘‘ BESPECTFULLY DECLINED.” 

The Earl of Soutliwolde was too much absorbed in 
his own troubles to think much of Lord Charleroy, or 
care whether he ever returned to Floradene or not ; 
but perhaps in his secret heart he did regret his 
promise to Basil Charleroy, since Lady Maud’s mar- 
riage now would avail him nothing unless she married 
well. He would doubtless have been relieved if he 
had been certain that the master of Eloradene would 
never come to Merivale or expect to claim his daughter 
for his wife; but he worried himself with these thoughts 
as little as possible, saying that the time was yet far 
distant and he could only wait and see what the future 
would bring forth. 

He spoke but little of his misfortune, for everything 
seemed already to have been said; but although he 
saw no rest by night or day, there was yet a faint hope 
in his heart. 

He had sent a long, beseeching letter, full of kind- 
ness, to the daughter of his dead sister. Lady Ada- 
iene, urging her to come to Merivale in her loneliness 
ami grief, and assuring her of a welcome; and, with an 
eagerness that no one but himself could understand, 
he waited for the answer. 

Even the Countess, who prided herself on her quick 
perception, knew not the depth of the Earl’s motive 
in inviting Eenzo Alvarez’s heiress to Merivale. 

It was true that some feeling of duty had perhaps 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 57 

prompted him to the act — he saw a way at last by 
which he could atone in a measure for his wrongs to 
the dead; yet Indeed his own interest was the subject 
of his planning. 

As soon as he had received Mr. Lawton’s letter say- 
ing that Eenzo Alvarez’s heiress, a young girl of 
eighteen, survived him, a thought, which had never 
before struck him, came into his mind. 

If Archie, Lord Dancourt, could only meet this 
girl and marry her, they would be saved. Their ruin 
could be averted. Would it not be a fair compact? 

Archie would some day be Earl of Southwolde, and 
the right to such a name — to be countess of such a 
grand estate — would certainly be something for Kenzo 
Alvarez’s heiress, even though she gave her money in 
exchange for it. She was so immensely wealthy that 
she would never miss the amount that had been loaned 
on Southwolde, and it would only be a severe lesson 
to the Earl after all. 

Indeed, it seemed to Lord Southwolde that nothing 
could be a greater blessing than for these two to meet 
and wed; although under different circumstances he 
might have chosen others in preference to Miss Alvarez 
for his son’s wife. 

He said nothing of his desire to the Countess, for he 
feared she would oppose it; and it would be time 
enough to let her know, he thought, when he was more 
certain that the hope was not a vain one. 

Lord Dancourt’s words in the girl’s favor, and his 
willingness to invite her to Merivale, had encouraged 
the Earl greatly. He felt that heaven must surely be 
aiding him and showing him a way out of his trouble. 

“ If I do not save myself by this means, I am lost,” 


58 tZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

he said ; and his suspense became greater as the time 
approached for him to receive an answer to the letter 
which it seemed to him was to decide his fate. 

The Countess too was interested, and watched the 
Earl eagerly each morning as he opened his mail, but 
not for worlds would she have allowed it to be known 
that she was anything but indifferent. Several times 
Archie inquired if Miss Alvarez had yet been heard 
from, but Lady Maud was silent and seemed to be 
deaf to the very name. It was hard for her to forget 
that her father had sent the invitation bitterly against 
her wishes ; and perhaps this caused her to dislike 
Benzo Alvarez’s daughter even more, and she secretly 
hoped that the girl would not so much as answer the 
Earl’s letter. 

She began to think that this would be the case, 
when one morning her eyes chanced to fall on a small, 
square, mourning envelope lying on the top of Lord 
Southwolde’s other mail at the side of his plate; and 
as he snatched it up eagerly and’ hastily broke the 
seal, she knew instinctively that this must be Miss 
Alvarez’s letter. 

There was a long-drawn breath from the Countess 
and a suppressed gasp from the Earl as he read, and 
Archie, looking up quickly and seeing the look of dis- 
tress on his father’s face, knew that the reply was not 
as he would have it. 

“ Have you heard from the girl at last?” he asked 
quickly. 

“ Yes,” the Earl replied in a terse voice ; “ but she 
declines my invitation to Merivale. Hear what she 
says : 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


69 


‘‘ Lord Southwolde : I have no desire to visit you 
and your family at Merivale. Your kind invitation, 
which I this moment watch with a smile of contempt 
as it burns to ashes in the grate, over the heat of 
glowing coals that are no hotter than my hatred for 
the Dancourts, is respectfully declined. 

‘‘ IzM A Alvarez.” 

For a moment after the Earl had finished reading 
and looked up, there was dead silence; and then Lord 
Dancourt laughed — he could not help it, his mother’s 
face was so full of indignation, and Lady Maud seemed 
fairly stricken dumb with astonishment. He cleared 
his throat dryly, looked up at the Earl, who had 
grown quite pale, endeavored to restrain his amuse- 
ment, but, failing, burst into a peal of hearty laughter 
that seemed to arouse those around him from the 
stupor into which they had fallen. 

“ George!” he exclaimed; “it is brief but to the 
point, I’ll declare. MYat i. vixek Miss Alvarez must 
be I I suppose that cuts our hoped-for friendship.” 

“ It is well for our safety that she does not come,” 
said Lady Maud, smiling in spite of herself. “I 
should after this be quite afraid of her.” 

The upstart I” exclaimed the Countess, indignantly. 
“ I never heard of such insolence. She might at least 
have made polite reply. I suppose you see now, Eob- 
ert,” — severely, — “that blood will tell.” 

The Earl groaned inwardly with despair ; but he 
endeavored to keep his composure as well as possible. 

“ We can do no more,” he said in a voice that was 
strangely husky, and giving Lady Southwolde a look 


60 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


that caused her to shudder ; for she knew what he 
meant. Her anger cooled and her heart died within 
her. In an instant it flashed across her mind that 
there could be no hope for them from Izma Alvarez. 

Lady Maud looked up at the Earl’s pale face. 

“ You seem to attach a good deal of importance to 
this girl’s letter, father,” she said. Indeed, I should 
not give her a thought. You have done your duty, 
and offered her your friendship. You cannot do 
more.” 

“No, no, my dear, you are mistaken,” he replied 
with a mirthless laugh, folding the letter and putting 
it away in his pocket, without being conscious of the 
action. “ I assure you it does not trouble me, yet, I 
— I rather expected a different reply.” 

“Of course you did,” said Lady Maud, pitting his 
agitation, though she knew not why, and feeling angry 
towards Miss Alvarez. “ I firmly believed, myself, 
that she would accept the invitation ; and I certainly 
did not think of such an answer as this, even though 
I was sure in the beginning that I would not like her.” 

“ I would have thought that she would at least have 
shown her appreciation,” declared the Earl, wishing 
to say something and knowing not what else to say. 

“ Miss Alvarez does not seem to be of the apprecia- 
tive mind,” said Archie, who would like to have added 
that he admired her for her independence ; but dread- 
ing the reproof that would follow such a remark, he 
thought the same in silence. 

“ It is no more than we ought to have expected,” 
said Lady Maud. “ As for my part, it is known, of 
course, that I am not sorry she has declined the invi- 
tation, yet I must admit that I regret having given her 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


61 


the pleasure of such an insolent refusal. Oh, dear, 
how I would like to send a reply to that letter !” 

“But you must not!” forbade the Earl, quickly. 
“ Be sure that you do nothing so rash, Maud.” 

“ I do not mean to, yet I assure you I would like it. 
I think, however, that you and mother both are un- 
reasonably affected by Izma Alvarez’s letter. Mother 
looks positively downcast. We have lived too long a 
time without the girl to begin to worry ourselves about 
her this late in the day.” 

“ Perhaps that is the very thing Izma — isn’t that a 
pretty name ? — the very thing she thought when she 
wrote that letter,” said Lord Dancourt, wisely. 

But this remark was intentionally unnoticed. 

“I am affected by the letter, my dear, simply 
through anger, if you must have the truth,” said the 
Countess, with forced calmness. “ It is seldom that I 
have ever been compelled to bear such an insult as 
this girl has given us.” 

“And it was so unlooked for,” observed Archie, 
mildly. “ No one expected, of course, that Miss Al- 
varez would have any resentment.” 

“We shall certainly remember it against her,” de- 
clared Lady Maud, with a withering look upon Lord 
Dancourt. 

“ We will, most assuredly we will,” the latter as- 
sented agreeably, “yet at the same time admitting 
that it will not shorten Miss Alvarez’s life.” 

“ The best thing to do is to banish it from our 
minds, as it is of no consequence,” said the Earl, as he 
arose and left the room. But Lady Maud, more than 
Archie, was not satisfied. She could not understand 




IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


the pallor of her father’s face, nor the look of agony 
that she had seen for a moment in her mother’s eyes. 

The Countess followed her husband from the room ; 
and a strange desire to hear what they would say to 
each other when alone, was strong upon Lady Maud. 
But no thought of endeavoring to do so came to her 
mind ; for though she had been spoiled, and had her 
faults, she still had a high sense of honor. 

But when the Earl and Countess had gone out, she 
turned to her brother and said : 

“ Somehow this thing has puzzled me, Archie. 
There seems to be something behind all this. What 
do you think of it ?” 

‘‘ Why, I think it is something unusual for my lord 
and lady to have their invitations flung back in their 
faces as Miss Alvarez has flung it ; that’s all,” replied 
Lord Dancourt, with a laugh, never dreaming how seri- 
ous the case was. 

But still Lady Maud was not convinced ; and in 
after-days, when she understood her misgivings, this 
very morning came back to her mind. 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

AN UNTIMELY MEETING. 

“ Maud, do come.” 

‘‘ No, I won’t.” 

“ Please.” 

“ I refuse.” 

‘‘ Oh, why was you born so stubborn ? Look out 


* IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


63 


the window ! I’ve had both our horses saddled, I 
was so sure you would consent to go. It’s all non- 
sense about Lord Charleroy. He is not at Floradene, 
and we are going to see Lady Thoresby and her niece. 
Somebody ought to return their visit. Now run along 
— there’s a good girl — and get on your habit.” 

The scene was in Lady Southwolde’s pretty morn- 
ing-room, the day after Izma Alvarez’s letter had been 
received at Merivale, and Lord Dancourt was using 
all his powers of persuasion upon Lady Maud to ac- 
company him over to Floradene. 

“ It is such a fine morning for exercise,” he contin- 
ued coaxingly ; ‘‘ and what’s the use of being formal 
with such old friends and near neighbors as these ? 
Are you coming?” 

“ I thinh not,” replied Lady Maud, with provoking 
unconcern, as she continued to ply herself to the bit of 
fancy-work she held in her white hands. 

“ Oh, you think not. Why don’t you know ? If I 
was a girl, I’m certain I wouldn’t let a man like Lord 
Charleroy — and he miles and miles away from here 
too — keep me away from Floradene.” 

“ It is not that, but — ” 

“ Yes, it is ; that’s just what is it.” 

“ But, Archie — ” 

“ Oh, you can’t fool me. You’re mad because Lord 
Charleroy hasn’t come to Merivale yet, and you won’t 
go to Floradene. Pshaw ! I wouldn’t let people think 
I cared.” 

“ I don’t,” declared Lady Maud, indignantly, snap- 
ping the threads of her dainty work and flinging it 
impatiently from her. “You don’t know what you 
are talking about, Archie Dancourt.” 


64 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW.* 

“I do, my dear,” more tenderly. “I am trying to 
persuade you to go to Floradene.” , 

“ But it is going to rain,” persisted Lady Maud, 
weakly, rising and looking out tlie window and up at 
the clouds. 

“ If it doesn’t, we will have a famine.” 

I mean now.” 

“ This minute?” 

“ Archie, you are provoking. This morning.” 

Provoking this morning? That hasn’t anything to 
do with the rain.” 

I shall not go to Floradene ; that’s all,” declared 
Lady Maud, in an exasperated tone. 

Oh, you must ; you have almost consented,” said 
Lord Dancourt, catching her by the hands and laugh- 
ing at her vexation. ‘‘Come! I promise never to 
tease you again.” 

And in spite of Lady Maud’s protestations, he drew 
her toward the door and out into the hall, pointing 
toward the stairway. 

“Go!” he commanded in anything but a tone of 
sternness, “ and see that you are ready in ten minutes. 
I shall wait for you below.” 

“If we must go, why not go in the carriage?” she 
asked, not wishing to give in too easily. “ They will 
hardly look for such an informal call, I fancy.” 

“ Then, we will surprise them. I like informality ; 
and I think Miss Thoresby does, too.” 

“ Ah, then it is to please Miss Thoresby.” 

“ No, it isn’t. It is to please myself. Now go !” 

“ But Archie,” hesitatingly. 

“ Well, what else is it ?” 


iZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 65 

“ Don’t you think Lord Charleroy will fall in love 
with Yalerie Thoreshy ?” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know.” 

“ No, of course you don’t,” admitted Lady Maud, 
with a nervous little laugh, moving toward the stair- 
way. “ It was a foolish question.” 

“If you are going, do hurry, Maud,” said Lord 
Dancourt, growing impatient. 

But Lady Maud paused again on the second step. 

“ Yes, I’m going,” she replied, looking back ; “ but — 
but, Archie, do you think it possible for any man not 
to fall in love with Miss Thoresby ?” 

“ Certainly. I am not in love with her — that’s one.” 

Lady Maud ascended a few more steps, but she did 
not seem satisfied. Suddenly she turned again. 

“ Archie !” 

“Well, good heavens, Maud! Will you never get 
up the stairway ?” 

“ Then you think it possible that Lord Charleroy 
will not fall in love with Yalerie Thoresby,” she said 
desperately. 

“ Yes, yes ! I am quite sure he will hate her !” cried 
Lord Dancourt, who would have said the same at that 
moment if he had known the two to be betrothed. 

“ Yery well, then ; I shall be ready in five minutes,” 
she said, laughing, and running up stairs and out of 
sight. 

Archie drew a long breath of relief, and, turning, 
made his way out to where the horses stood in readi- 
ness. 

He had to wait but a few moments before Lady 
Maud, who seemed determined to keep her word in 
this instance, reappeared before him, looking very 


66 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHmE AND SHADOW. 


handsome in her dark blue habit, that showed the 
graceful lines and curves of her symmetrical figure to 
perfection. Her fair, high-bred face, too, never looked 
better than when beneath the drooping plumes of her 
riding-hat, which it was her particular taste to wear. 

Archie greeted her with a smile of satisfaction, and 
lifted her into the saddle, and soon they were gallop- 
ing away from Merivale. 

But Lady Maud seemed ill at ease. Now and then 
she would look up at the clouds, which had indeed 
grown very dark and threatening, and say : 

“ You will see that I was not far wrong, Archie or, 
“ I tell you we will be caught in the storm that is ap- 
proaching. We were very unwise to come. Let us 
turn back.” 

But Lord Dancourt declared that the rain was yet 
far off, and that they would have plenty of time to 
reach Floradene ; and really believing that it would be 
so, he would not hear to turning back. 

It was no wonder, then, that when they were but 
little more than half way to Floradene and the rain 
began to pour down upon them in torrents, drenching 
them to the skin, and almost blinding them. Lady Maud 
was angry with Lord Dancourt, and herself also, for 
having listened to him and allowing herself to be over- 
persuaded. 

She would have turned back then alone, but it 
would not benefit her, as they were nearer Floradene 
now than they were Merivale, and she might as well 
ride onward. 

They were almost in sight of their destination, how- 
ever, before the shower subsided, and Lady Maud, 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


67 


who had hitherto been too angry to reply when Archie 
spoke to her, conld remain silent no longer. 

“ So this is the result of yonr sound judgment of the 
weather, is it. Lord Dancourt?” she said sarcastically. 
“ If there’s anything you can foresee better than you 
can a storm in the heavens, I would like for you to 
let me know.” 

He smiled provokingly, and, taking off his hat, shook 
the water from the brim, but made no reply. 

“We will present a sorry figure indeed before Lady 
Thoresby and her charming niece,” she continued, 
giving her horse a vicious cut with the whip in her 
hand. 

Archie turned and looked at her, then broke into a 
loud laugh. 

“ You don't look well,” he said. “ By Jove ! Maud, 
where are your feathers ?” 

“ Perhaps if you could see yourself, you would have 
no hopes of Miss Thoresby,” she replied, her anger 
increasing. 

“ But, my dear, your hat has positively gone to 
nothing,” he said, still laughing, and not suffering the 
least loss of his temper. 

“ It is the last time — the very last — that I shall ever 
come with you,” she declared vehemently ; “ so it is 
well for you to make the best of it.” 

“But, Maud, dear — ” 

“ Don’t speah to me !” she stormed, actual tears of 
vexation standing in her beautiful blue eyes. And 
when they reached Floradene, she refused to allow 
him to even lift her from her saddle. 

It had been a long time since she had entered these 
lovely grounds, which were unusually beautiful at 


68 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


this season of the year, when the very atmosphere was 
sweet with the breath of flowers, that grew in all parts 
of Floradene, in every color and form ; but Lady Maud 
was too angry to look around her. She made her 
way straight toward the steps of the long, wide bal- 
cony at the south side of the great old-fashioned 
house, upon which a row of tall French windows 
opened, leaving Archie to follow her. 

This he did, smiling at the indignant girl’s haughty 
step and the way in which her damp habit clung to 
her. 

“ Aren’t you going to the front of the house ?” he 
asked her when he had reached her side. 

“ No,” she replied curtly. “ I saw Lady Thoresby 
through one of those windows a moment ago, and 
since you are so desirous of making an informal call, 
we might just as well enter unceremoniously. I re- 
member this is the old sitting-room here.” And she 
moved toword one of the windows at the right of her. 

“Is that where you saw Lady Thoresby?” 

“ I’m not sure, but I think so.” 

“ I say, Maud, are you very angry ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ And you are sorry you came ?” 

They had now reached the window, and Lady Maud 
had her hand on the curtain in the act of pushing it 
aside. She paused. 

“ Yes, I am sorry,” she replied in a lowered tone. 
“ I did not want to come to Floradene in the begin- 
ning, because I have made up my mind to dislike its 
master and all belonging to him. He must be a very 
poor excuse for a man, although 1 believed at first that 
I might be niistakeni.” 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


69 


Now, Lady Maud would never have said this except 
in an angry moment like this, for she hardly meant it ; 
and at any other time she would have been more cau- 
tious. She would have recalled it even then if it had 
been possible ; for the very instant she had taken a step 
into the room, the tall form of a man arose from the 
depths of a cushioned chair at the very side of the 
window and looked at her with an odd smile. 

She drew back with a startled gasp, her heart flutter- 
ing wildly. Surely there was something familiar in 
his dark, handsome face. Somewhere those black eyes 
seemed to have looked at her before. When and where 
was it ? 

All this flashed through her mind in an instant — 
before either of them had had time to speak ; and then 
Lord Dancourt followed her through the window and 
stopped abruptly, in confused astonishment. 

‘‘ How d’y’do, Dancourt?” said the gentleman, coolly, 
holding out his hand to Archie, with that same peculiar 
smile on his moustached lips. 

“ Lord Charier oy exclaimed Archie, when he could 
recover his breath ; and at the sound of that name at 
this luckless moment. Lady Maud could feel her face 
flushing crimson, for she knew he had heard every 
word she said as she paused there at the window be- 
fore entering the room. How she longed for the floor 
to open and swallow her up ! She looked toward the 
window wistfully. Gladly would she have escaped 
through it, but it was too late to turn back now. 

“ You seem surprised to see me,” said Lord Charle- 
roy, as he shook Lord Dancourt’s hand. 

I — I was hardly expecting you,” Archie replied 


70 TZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

stammeringly, feeling like a culprit for Lady Maud’s 
sake. “When did you arrive?” 

“ Only this morning. But you are pleased to see 
me, I hope.” 

“Yes, very pleased — very pleased,” replied Archie, 
with a comical look at Lady Maud that at any other 
time would have brought from her lips a burst of 
laughter. 

At this moment, however, she was anything but 
amused ; and as Lord Charleroy turned his eyes upon 
her again with a curious twinkle in their depths, she 
thought he was looking at her dilapidated hat and 
rain-drenched figure, and the crimson in her cheeks 
grew deeper. 

“ I presume you remember my sister, Lady Maud,” 
said Archie. But when the master of Floradene held 
out his hand to her, she was inclined not to take it, she 
was so displeased with the situation — everything and 
everybody, herself included. 

“ Indeed I could not easily forget her,” he replied 
gallantly, without seeming to notice the hesitation with 
which she gave him her hand ; “ yet she has changed 
somewhat, I think, since childhood.” 

Lady Maud remembered her brother’s unflattering 
remarks concerning her appearance, and readily mis- 
took the well-meant compliment, feeling sure that, as 
she now looked, he could not think she had changed 
for the better. 

“ I should never have known you — never,” she re- 
plied with dignity. 

“ Indeed ! Then I too have changed greatly ?” 

“I hardly know,” she said calmly. “It has been 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


71 


SO long since you were at Floradene, tliat I do not re- 
member you.” 

“ Ab ! I flattered myself you would,” lie said in an 
unruffled tone. “ Did I expect too much ?” 

“ Yes — considering your preference for new friends 
and foreign countries,” Lady Maud replied coolly. 
“ Did Lady Thoresby recognize you ?” raising her 
eyes to his face innocently. 

“ I believe she did ; at least, I hope so, as she rushed 
into my arms,” he said, with a smile that made Lady 
Maud feel slightly uncomfortable. 

“ Lady Thoresby and her niece are at home, are they 
not?” asked Archie. “We are hardly in a plight to 
see them ; but as we are here, we will stop until the 
rain is over.” 

“ By all means. Pray be seated ! I am indeed 
sorry that you were caught in the storm, but glad that 
you came here for shelter,” said Lord Charleroy, plac- 
ing a chair for Lady Maud. “ Here comes Eita and 
Miss Thoresby now,” — as the door opened. 

Lady Maud advanced to meet the two ladies, with- 
out noticing the chair my lord had proffered her ; and 
after this she gave him but little chance of talking to 
her. She tried to make herself agreeable to Lady 
Thoresby, but felt all the while that she was failing ; 
for it was with an effort that she kept back the tears 
of disappointment and vexation from her eyes. 

How different was this from the meeting with Lord 
Charleroy that she had always pictured in her mind ! 
In Lord Charleroy himself she could not say that she 
was disappointed. Although not the handsomest man 
she had ever seen, there was something about his dark 
face wonderfully attractive. His brows, and hair, and 


t3 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

the drooping moustache, that did not quite conceal 
the faint lines of dissipation about his mouth, were jet 
black, and his eyes, though at times seeming to mock 
you, were full of an intelligent light. He was tall, too. 
Lady Maud had noticed, when he drew his straight 
figure erect, that she felt quite small beside him. She 
was glad of this, in spite of the fact that she had 
“ made up her mind to dislike him,” and to tell him 
that she did not consider herself bound to him, as soon 
as he came home. 

But to think that after all these years, when Lord 
Charleroy had wilfully absented himself and seemed 
in no hurry whatever to renew his acquaintance with 
his future bride, that she should reverse the order of 
things and come to Floradene and meet him here ! 

It seemed more than the proud spirit of Lady Maud 
Dancourt could bear. She didn’t know whether to be 
glad or sorry that he had heard what she said about 
him ; but she was quite sure that for some reason she 
was angry with him, and determined to let him see that, 
though she was at Floradene, it was not to see him. 

And every time she looked at her damp habit and 
thought of her hot, her vexation increased, until at 
length, after a very short stay, and before the rain had 
fairly ceased, she arose and declared that she must 
take her departure. 

Lord Dancourt made no objection, for he knew that 
already it would be a month at least before he could 
re-establish himself in Lady Maud’s good graces. 

Lady Thoresby and her pretty niece regretted very 
much that they would not remain longer, and Lord 
Charleroy followed Lady Maud out to her horse, and 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


73 


though she did it reluctantly, she was compelled to 
allow him to lift her into the saddle. 

He seemed determined to overlook her coldness to 
him ; and as they were about to part, he caught the 
rein and held her horse back for a moment, saying : 

“ Can I come to Merivale, Lady Maud ? I was just 
starting this morning when it began to rain.” 

“Were you not coming, then, without permission?” 
she asked deliberately, with a slight uplifting of her 
brows. 

“ Ye-es,” he hesitated ; “ but I was thinking of you 
then as a child, and presuming on the old friendship. 
I forgot that years had made of you a woman, you 
know, and that you might have learned to dislike me 
while I was gone.” 

Lady Maud took no heed of this little thrust. 

“ But, my lord, you would surely not stay away 
from Merivale on my account!” she exclaimed in mild 
surprise. 

“ I certainly would like to know that my coming is 
agreeable to you,” he replied. 

“ Then I should be pleased to see you, of course — 
for — for mother’s sake,” she added, as if fearing that 
she was relenting too much. “ She was so fond of your 
mother that I dare say she would be very much hurt if 
you did not come to Merivale. And Archie too — ” 

“ So you would not be pleased for your own sake,” 
he interrupted impatiently, dropping the reins as if 
satisfied. 

“How persistent you are. Lord Chaiieroy!” she 
said with a nervous little laugh. “ One would think 
that you were really desirous of coming to Merivale.” 

“ So I am. Do you not think so ?” 


74 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“No,” she replied candidly, “of course I do not.” 

“ Why, Lady Maud ? Will you tell me ?” 

“No, I think not; at least, not at j^resent.” 

“Don’t you think you are liable to be mistaken?” 

“ Perhaps so ; yet we will not discuss it.” 

“ Then you do not want me to come to Merivale, so 
far as you are concerned,” he said with a touch of 
hauteur to his tone, as he started to turn away. 

But it suddenly dawned upon Lady Maud that she 
was not desirous of entirely losing Lord Charleroy’s 
friendship ; and she laid her hand lightly on his sleeve, 
detaining him, and saying with a gracious but con- 
descending air : 

“Well, come over if you like. I promise that you 
shall not be unwelcome.” Then she smiled upon him 
for the first time, and, waving her hand to Lady 
Thoresby and her niece, with whom Archie was taking 
an unwilling leave on the balcony, she jerked at her 
rein and galloped swiftly from the spot, leaving Lord 
Dancourt to hastily follow her. 


CHAPTEE IX. 

“ONLY A FACE AT THE WINDOW.” 

“ It was really too bad, my dear,” said Lady South- 
wolde, with a calm smile, when Lady Maud, on her re- 
turn from Eloradene, burst into her mother’s room 
with tears in her eyes, and related to her her disagree- 
able experience of the morning ; “ but I should not 
allow the matter to trouble me. You ought to have 


12MA ; OR, SUKSHIKE AND SHADOW. 75 

known better, though, than to allow Archie to coax 
you out on such an uncertain day as this.” 

“ I ought indeed,” admitted Lady Maud, regretfully ; 
“ but the rain, mother, was not the worst of it. I might 
have forgiven that if it had not been for Lord Charle- 
roy. Just think of my meeting him at Floradene, and 
in such a plight as this,” — with a look of disgust at 
herself in the mirror over the mantel in front of her. 

It was all Archie’s fault ; and I shall never forget it, 
either.” 

“ Do you care so much for Elwood Charleroy’s 
opinion as that?” asked the Countess, curiously. 
“ Tell me, Maud, what did you think of him ?” 

“ He was handsome,” confessed Lady Maud, reluc- 
tantly, twirling the riding- whip, which she still held in 
her hand ; “yes, very handsome, I think.” 

“Was that all ?” 

“ No, I am sure there was more. He was tall and — ” 

“ But what did you think of himself — as a man, I 
mean. Did you like him ?” 

“ I hardly know. You see I saw so little of him, 
and I don’t believe I talked to him very much,” — 
thoughtfully. 

“ Ah ! I imagined you would,” — in surprise. “ Is 
he not coming over?” 

“ He said so. I am sure he will. I told him you 
would be pleased to see him.” 

exclaimed the Countess. 

Lady Maud smiled. 

“Certainly. Did I do wrong?” 

“ My dear, I really believe you are disappointed in 
Lord Charleroy,” said the Countess, in a puzzled tone. 

Lady Maud laughed and moved toward the door. 


7f) IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

“I am disappointed in myself,” she replied. “I 
think I must hurry and give Lord Charleroy his free- 
dom, to prevent him from asking me for it.” 

“Does he desire it?” asked the Countess, growing- 
indignant at once. 

“ I am sure I don’t know. Perhaps he doesn’t con- 
sider himself bound. I am quite certain, however,” 
— with another disapproving glance at her reflection in 
the mirror as she paused with her hand on the door- 
knob — “ that if I was a man of good taste. Lady 
Maud Dancourt would not cause my pulses to thrill 
this morning.” 

And with this she opened the door and went out, 
leaving Lady Southwole in perplexing doubt as to 
whether it was Lord Charleroy that was not pleased 
with Lady Maud, or Lady Maud that was not pleased 
with Lord Charleroy. 

She would not have been sorry, however, if she had 
known either to be the case ; for only the day before, 
when the Earl of Southwolde had received Izma 
Alvarez’s letter, he had said to her : 

“ There is no hope for us, Lura. I now begin to 
see that even our children cannot save us. Maud ma}^ 
meet Lord Charleroy, and they may like each other, 
but this will benefit us nothing ; and besides, even he 
may not be eager to wed her when the truth is known 
to him.” 

Lady Southwolde studied a long time before reply- 
ing, then she had looked up with an expression of des- 
perate resolve on her face, saying : 

“I cannot give up hope just yet. We know not 
what may happen. Wait a while, Eobert, before 
you have despaired, and — and I will try to help you.” 


I^MA ; Ol>., SUJTSHINE AND SHADOW. 




“ You, my wife?” he exclaimed in surprise. 

“ Yes, why not ?” she asked. 

“ What can you do ?” 

“ I cannot say at present ; but, woman though I am, 
I may be able to accomplish something. Do not think 
too little of my ability ; for I tell you, Eobert,” she 
said, with a determined look in her eyes, “ I would 
resort to almost any means to avert our impending 
ruin.” 

And she meant what she she said. Willingly would 
she have surmounted all obstacles, regardless of her 
own happiness and others, to save the world from 
knowing their embarrassment. 

And the idea of helping the Earl in his trouble hav- 
ing once come to her, she thought over it much ; and 
although at times she despaired of succeeding, she be- 
came more and more resolute in her resolve. 

One thing she had decided upon — Lady Maud and 
Lord Charleroy must not marry. 

She had much hope, however, of this being as she 
desired, after their unfavorable meeting at Floradene. 
She felt that they would not fall in love with each 
other now, as on their first meeting both had seemed 
badly impressed with each other. 

At least, this is what she concluded from Lady 
Maud’s own words. 

But she was rather displeased at Lord Charlerey’s 
promptness in coming to Merivale the very morning 
following that upon which Lady Maud and Archie had 
visited Floradene. 

Archie too was away, having gone on his usual 
early canter through the Merivale woods, and not yet 
returned ; and Lady Maud, who was looking much 


78 


l^MA ; OR, SUNSHINE AKO SHADOW. 


fairer than the Countess would have liked for this 
occasion, was compelled to receive him. They were 
not allowed to remain alone together long, however. 
Lady Southwolde soon made her appearance in the 
drawing-room ; and though the Earl entered and wel- 
comed the son of his boyhood friend, and went out 
again, my lady made it convenient to remain in her 
seat until Lord 'Char leroy had departed. 

Lady Maud might have been vexed, but she made 
no sign of it. Lord Charleroy was certainly disap- 
pointed ; for as he was taking his leave, he bent over 
the slim white hand that he held for a moment in his 
own, and said : 

‘‘ I may come again, may I not. Lady Maud ? It 
seems that I have scarcely spoken to you yet.” 

There was a double meaning in his words, and per- 
haps Lady Maud understood it ; for she smiled and an- 
swered with wonderful kindness : 

“ You should not ask permission to come to Meri- 
vale. Lord Charleroy. Remember that it is an old 
friend to Eloradene and all its masters. You are no 
less welcome here than the rest.” 

But Lady Maud noticed that her mother’s invita- 
tion to Lord Charleroy might have been more cordial ; 
and when they were alone together in the Countess’s 
morning-room, she said to her : 

“ Mother, did you not desire Lord Charleroy to come 
to Merivale ?” 

“ Did I not tell him so?” was the stiff reply. 

“ Yes — you did ; but I think it was about in the same 
tone of voice that you spoke then,” said Lady Maud, 
with a slight smile. “You are no better pleased with 
him, I presume, than before you saw him.” 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 79 

Not SO well, I must confess. I could see by his 
face that he is a very dissipated man.” 

Lady Maud shrugged her graceful shoulders. 

“ Perhaps I am ignorant on such matters,” she said ; 
“ but indeed I saw no more of the kind in Lord 
Charleroy’s face than in any other man’s.” 

“ I think you are wilfully blind, Maud. Your 
father, whom, I dare say, is a better judge than either 
of us, will tell you the very same that I have about 
Lord Charleroy.” 

“ That he is a dissipated man ?” 

‘‘ Yes.” 

“ Has he said so ?” 

“ No ; but I am sure he will.” 

“ Then I shall ask him,” said Lady Maud, with a 
resolute air, as she arose from her seat and tapped the 
small bell on the table. 

In a moment the footman appeared. 

“ John, if father is not busy, tell him that I wish to 
see him here,” she commanded. 

The man obeyed, and Lady Southwolde looked at 
her daughter in surprise. 

“ You seem rather in earnest,” she said quietly. 

“ I am. Why not settle the question at once ?” 

“ Will your father’s opinion convince you ?” 

“ It must, I suppose,” unwillingly. 

The Countess looked hopeful, and smiled to herself 
as the Earl entered the room. . 

Lady Maud approaches him with suppressed eager- 
ness, and lays one hand upon his arm. 

“ Father,” she says, “ you have seen Lord Charle- 
roy. Now tell me, do you think him a bad man?” 

“ Is this why you sent for me ?” 


80 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“ It is.” 

Tlie Earl smiled, but lie was liardlj pleased at this 
interest liis daughter was taking in Lord Charleroy. 

“ I should say that Elwood was not a bad man, my 
dear,” he replied, but one of bad habits.” 

“Ah! did I not tell you so?” the Countess chimed 
in triumphantly. “ I am not easily deceived.” 

Lady Maud would not have admitted it even to her- 
self, but the Earl’s reply had greatly disappointed her. 
She was sure that he would speak in Lord Charleroy’ s 
favor. She was too proud, however, to show that her 
father’s opinion distressed her. 

“ It is too bad,” she said, laughing, “ yet I believe 
mother is positively glad that it is so, in order to 
triumph over me.” 

“ Are you convinced ?” asked the Countess. 

“ Quite convinced,” replied Lady Maud. And her 
tone was so careless and indifferent that Lady South- 
wolde decided that she v/as not much interested in 
Elwood Charleroy, after all. 

“ I am quite sure,” said the Earl, meaningly, “ that 
Charleroy is not the man to make a proud girl happy. 
I believed that he would be like his father, but I see he 
is not ; so, as things have turned out, I would advise 
you, Maud, not to allow the contract between myself 
and Basil Charleroy to influence you.” 

“Father!” exclaimed Lady Maud, in surprise; for 
it was the first time he had ever spoken to her thus in 
regard to her childhood betrothal. She had believed 
that he at least would be pleased to see her Lady 
Charleroy. “ But what of your promise ?” 

“ Lord Charleroy will expect you to use your own 
discretion in fulfilling it — ” he replied. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


81 


“ If he even remembers it,” said the Countess. 

“ Yes, if he even remembers it — which it is hardly 
likely that he does,” agreed Lady Maud, crossing the 
room and seating herselfat the window. “ There is 
no need to make a fuss about Lord Charleroy. I am 
indeed tired of hearing his name. I am sorry, father, 
that I trouble you.” 

“ No trouble, my dear, I assure — ” 

A knock on the door interrupted him. 

Come in !” the Countess called, and the door was 
flung oj)en. 

“ It’s only me,” said Lord Dancourt, who stood on 
the threshold, with his hat on his head and his riding- 
whip in his hand ; “ but I heard voices, and was afraid 
to come in without announcing myself.” 

“Where have you been?” asked the Earl, looking 
at his flushed face and glowing eyes. 

“ He certainly seems excited,” remarked Lady Maud, 
with a slight sneer, as she glanced up at his hat, which 
he had forgotten to remove. (She had not yet for- 
given him for that visit to Floradene.) 

“Excited! Well, by Jove, Maud Dancourt, if you 
had seen what I have this morning you would be ex- 
cited tool” Archie exclaimed, jerking off his hat and 
flinging it down upon the table. “ Do you remember 
the old mansion called Lane Park, five miles the 
other side of Floradene, father ?” 

“ Yes — the country seat of Sir George Keimer’s 
widow until her death,” replied the Earl, wonder- 

ingly- 

“ Well, you know it hasn’t been inhabited since I 
was a boy,” Archie continued in breathless haste ; 


82 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“ but this morning 1 rode past there, and I saw that 
it had been put in thorough repair.” 

“ Is that all?” asked Lady Maud, in disgust, as her 
brother paused an instant. 

Certainly not. You must be in a hurry. The rest 
is the part that agitates me,” he said, with a brief 
laugh. “ Seeing the improvements on the place, 1 
rode near the old mansion in order to view it closely ; 
and as I chanced to look up at one of the upper 
windows I saw a picture that I will never in life 
forget.” 

“ Why, what was it, my son ?” asked the Countess, 
eagerly. And even Lady Maud could not conceal her 
interest. 

“ It was a woman ; and the fairest that God ever 
made,” he replied, enthusiastically. ‘ *She was leaning 
with both white arms upon the sill, and the howlers of 
the clustering vines that crept up to the window made a 
rich, crimson crown for her beautiful, dark head. I 
could see that she was dressed in sombre black, but 
it only added to the loveliness of this living picture ; 
for there was brightness enough in her large, velvety 
eyes, and the color in her cheeks would have put to 
shame the roses. Oh, such eyes as they were ! and 
such a face ! full of music and poetry, and a dreamy 
melancholy over which an artist would go mad. I 
stopped my horse without knowing it, and looked at 
her for one brief, delightful moment, and as she looked 
down upon me, attracted by my gaze, I saw her start, 
and my heart fluttered as it never had before. How 
beautiful she w^as in that startled attitude ! I could 
have stood there all day and watched her ; but seeing 
that she was already astonished by my lingering stare. 


i2jiA ; OK, SUNSlllYE ANt) SHADOW. 


8^] 

I aroused myself from the trance into which the sight 
of her had thrown me, and, touching my hat, passed 
on.” 

“ And is this — only a woman’s face — the cause of 
your excitement ?” asked Lady Maud, throwing her 
head back with a rippling laugh. 

“ How long has it been, Archie, since you raved 
over Valerie Thoresby?” 

“ Valerie Thoresby !” he exclaimed contemptuously. 
“ She cannot be compared with this girl at Lane 
Park. Just wait until you have seen her, Maud, and 
then, I dare say, you will agree with me.” 

“Whom could she be?” asked the Earl, in a tone of 
interest. 

“ I cannot even imagine,” Lord Dancourt replied ; 
“ yet she was too dark, I think, to be an English- 
woman.” 

“ Strange,” mused the Earl. “ She must have re- 
cently come there, or we would have heard that Lane 
Park was inhabited.” / 

“ I shall certainly make it my business to solve the 
mystery,” Archie declared briskly. “ You need not 
smile, mother. I am terribly in earnest; and I tell 
you if a man ever fell in love with a woman on first 
sight, then I fell in love with the fair creature at Lane 
Park this morning.” 

His tone was indeed earnest and his face as serious 
as the Countess had ever seen it. She looked up, 
slightly dismayed. 

“Allow prudence to govern you in all things, my 
son,” she said. “ For all you know, this girl whom 
you so greatly admired may be a servant at Lane 
Park.” 


84 ; 0^, SlTNSHlNtj AND SHADOW. 

“A servant! Tliat girl a servant! O mother, 
yon would laugh at yourself for saying it if you had 
seen her !” Archie exclaimed. “ The daughter of a 
queen never had a more patrician face. But was she 
princess or peasant, I should not admire her less ; and 
the honor to me would be quite as great in making 
her Lady Dancourt.” 


CHAPTEE X. 

A VISIT IS PLANNED TO LANE PARK. 

The Earl and Countess both were inclined to laugh 
at Archie’s fancy for the beautiful stranger at Lane 
Park, and Lady Maud too, declared that it would end 
in a single burst of enthusiasm, like all the rest of his 
former love affairs ; but Lord Dancourt himself knew 
his own mind better than any one else perhaps, and 
he was quite sure that no woman had ever before so 
greatly interested him. 

The lovely face that he had seen for but a passing 
moment haunted him, and after this he never failed 
on his morning rides to go near Lane Park in the hope 
of catching another glimpse of it. But it was in vain 
that he did so. The trailing vines and scarlet blos- 
soms still clung to that particular window, but the face 
that Archie so longed so see again was never there. 

Lady Maud would sometimes smile when he re- 
turned from these long rides, and ask him if he had 
been to see his mysterious lady-love again ; and he 


i^MA; oil, AKD SHAboW. 85 

would reply, with an impatience that was unusual to 
him, “ that he hadn’t been to see any one.” 

But Lady Maud knew better than this ; and the idea 
of her brother being in love with a woman whom he 
had never seen but once, and to whom he had never 
spoken, rather amused her. 

One day when Lord Dancourt was present, and they 
were seated together in the drawing-room with Lord 
Charleroy and Yalerie Thoresby, who had ridden over 
to Merivale, and the subject of lovers and marriage 
had come up. Lady Maud laughingly remarked : 

“ I believe Archie has met his fate at last, and in a 
most romantic fashion.” 

“ Is it possible !” exclaimed Lord Charleroy, with an 
evidence of great surprise. “ Dancourt, I should 
have thought that you would let us know of this. 
Atone at once by telling us what fair one has claimed 
your fancy.” 

“ It seems that a fellow might have a secret now 
and then,” objected Archie, with a laugh. 

“ Not by any means. Lord Dancourt, when there’s a 
woman in the case,” contradicted Miss Thoresby, 
gayly. 

“ Is that for me ?” asked Lady Maud, reproachfully. 

“It might be for Lord Dancourt ’s sweetheart,” re- 
plied Miss Thoresby. 

“We will take it that way, at least,” said Lady 
Maud, agreeably. “ Now, Archie, give us your ex- 
perience.” 

“ Well, as I’m in for it, I might as well own up, I 
suppose,” said he. “ The truth is, I have fallen in 
love with a strange beauty at Lane Park.” 

“ At Lane Park !” exclaimed Lord Charleroy, in as- 


86 iZMA ; OR, and shadow. 

tonishment. “ Why, man, you’re mad ! The placH 
isn’t inhabited.” 

“ I dispute it,” replied Archie, calmly. ** Go near 
there and you will see for yourself. The most beauti- 
ful woman the sun ever shone on I saw within its 
walls.” 

“ Well, perhaps I am mistaken,” admitted Lord 
Charleroy, thoughtfully ; “ but I understood Rita to 
say that no one had lived there since Lady Reiner’s 
death.” 

“ So she did ; I heard her say it myself,” said Miss 
Thoresby. 

‘‘ But it is probable that some one could have come 
there of late,” said Archie. “ I am quite sure that the 
face I saw at the window was no trick of my imagina- 
tion.” 

“What if it was a ghost?” exclaimed Lady Maud. 

“ Suppose we invade the place and learn,” sug- 
gested Yalerie Thoresby. 

“ Would you like it?” asked Lord Charleroy. 

“I should, I’m sure,” Lord Dancourt replied 
readily. 

“ No doubt,” said Lady Maud, dryly. “ But what 
if some one really lives there — and Archie evidently 
believes there does : would they not think we were 
mad ?” 

“ We are their neighbors, then — we can certainly 
call on them,” Yalerie asserted. “ There will be 
nothing so strange in our going there.” 

“ But we can use our pleasure about going in if we 
find that the place is inhabited,” said Lord Charleroy, 
who did not enjoy the prospect of meeting strangers 
so well as he did the thoughts of the long ride to the 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


87 


place at Lady Maud’s side. “I would like to see 
Lane Park once more, even if I do not enter.” 

“ So should I,” said Lady Maud. And she was an- 
noyed at herself at this moment for blushing, as she 
looked up and caught Lord Charleroy’s eyes fixed 
upon her in a steady stare. 

“ Then it is decided that we shall go, is it not ?” 
asked Lord Dancourt. 

“I think we are all quite willing,” replied Yalerie. 
“ How shall we go ?” 

“ On horseback, by all means,” said Archie. “ Maud 
and I can ride over to Ploradene early to-morrow 
morning, as it is on our way to Lane Park.” 

‘‘ Good. Will you come. Lady Maud ?” asked Lord 
Charleroy. 

She hesitated, because she had declared that she 
would never go with Archie again, but Lord Charleroy 
believed it was because she did not wish to come to 
Ploradene. 

“ Ah ! I had forgotten,” he said quickly. “We can 
meet you this side of Ploradene, if you like. Lady 
Maud. Those grounds do not belong to me.” 

Lady Maud knew that she had wounded him, but 
she would not let him see that she understood his 
meaning. 

“I am sure we would not like to trespass, my lord,” 
she answered, looking at him in innocent surprise, 
“ but we can just as easily come to Ploradene.” 

“ Of course you can,” said Miss Thoresby, aston- 
ished. “I would like to know why not.” 

“ It was for Lady Maud’s pleasure that I spoke,” 
said Lord Charleroy, rather stitfiy. “I feared — ” 

“Oh, pshaw! we will come, of course,” interrupted 


88 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


Archie, impatiently. “ At least I will be on time for 
Miss Thoresby.” 

“ Then may I hope that you will come for me. Lady 
Maud ?” Lord Charleroy asked, with a smile, as he 
arose to take his leave, and held out his hand to her. 

“ That is the only course left me, it seems,” she 
replied. ‘‘ If you desire it, I will come.” 

“I cannot tell you how much I desire it. Lady 
Maud,” he said earnestly, as he pressed her hand. 


CHAPTEE XI. 

A STARTLING DISCLOSURE. 

The Countess of Southwolde had passed a very 
restless night ; and long before it was her usual hour 
to rise, she had left her pillow and was sitting at the 
window of her boudoir, looking out upon the dew-wet 
grass and flowers, and thinking of her trouble, which 
at times seemed more than she could bear. She had 
thought until her brain was addled, yet she could de- 
vise no means by which it seemed possible to save 
themselves from ruin. The Earl was right, she began 
to believe — there was no hope for them. They must 
suffer for his folly. 

“ God have mercy and spare us for our children’s 
sake!” she had prayed again and again, when all 
earthly hope seemed slipping from her. But even 
though she asked for pity, she was not a woman to 


iZMA ; OR, SUNSHiNfi AND SHADOW. 89 

trust to heaven for aid ; and in no way did there seem 
any help for her. 

On this morning that she sat there in her boudoir 
alone, her eyes fixed upon the magnificent grounds 
that stretched out before her, which might soon be 
taken from her, bitter tears coursed down her cheeks, 
and she thought with miserable regret how time had 
changed the fortunes of the Earl of Southwolde and 
Renzo Alvarez, the man whose poverty they had once 
despised. 

But the Countess, though selfish in most things, 
would have suffered much less, perhaps, in this — the 
greatest trial of her life — if it had not been for the 
thought that sooner or later the blow of their great 
misfortune must fall upon Archie and Maud. 

Gladly would she have borne the burden alone and 
shielded them from every sorrow. 

Only yesterday her heart had been made to ache by 
their happy faces when they came to her and told her 
of their prospective visit to Lane Park. Their laugh- 
ter was so full of the joy of youth, and their hearts 
were so free from every pain and care, it was no won- 
der that the Countess could not sleep for thinking of 
the time that their young lives must be blighted. 

Her head was bowed and she was weeping, when 
the door opened softly and the Earl came into the 
room. She did not see him until he stopped beside 
her and laid his hand upon her arm. 

She looked up, and there was something in his face 
that made her heart beat faster. She saw that he 
held an open letter in his hand. 

“Robert!” she exclaimed quickly; “what is it? 
Have you news — good news ?” 


90 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

“Let US hope so,” he replied cheerfully; “ but I 
thought you were braver than this, Lura. You are 
weeping.” 

“It is s-o hard to bear,” she said sorrowfully. And 
the Earl bent down and dropped a pitying kiss upon 
her forehead. 

“ But we’ll try not to despair just yet, my dear,” he 
replied. “ I have come to tell you what is in Mr. 
Lawton’s letter ; but you must be reasonable when you 
have heard what I have to say to you.” 

“ I will,” she promised eagerly. “ Tell me what it 
is.” 

“ It is a very surprising — I should say startling, 
perhaps — piece of news,” he said. “ Mr. Lawton in- 
forms me that Kenzo Alvarez’s heiress has left Spain 
and come to England to reside.” 

“ Has left Spain and come to England !” echoed the 
Lady Southwolde, in amazement. “ What does it 
mean?” 

“ That she intends to take her father’s affairs in her 
own hands, I presume,” the Earl replied calmly. “ I 
see no other reason for it.” 

“ But, Robert, how can this be best for us ?” asked 
the Countess, in startled wonder. 

“ Perhaps it is not ; yet I have my own reasons for 
thinking so.” 

“ And where is the girl — in what part of England ?” 

“ You may well ask,” said the Earl, slowly. “ She 
is at Lane Park” 

“ Great heavens !” exclaimed the Countess, in amaze- 
ment. “ Are you jesting, Robert ?” 

“ I was never more serious in my life,” he replied. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


91 


“ There” — tossing the letter in his hand into her lap — 
“is the proof of it.” ' 

It was true. The Countess saw this as she read. 
Miss Alvarez had come to England, and was living at 
Lane Park, only a few miles from Merivale. There 
was no mistake, for it was plainly written in Mr. Law- 
ton’s letter. 

Lady Southwolde looked up with a startled expres- 
sion on her pale face, saying : 

“ This girl that Archie saw at Lane Park — ” 

“Must have been Izma Alvarez,” the Earl finished. 

The Countess rose hurriedly to her feet. 

“ Does Archie and Maud know this ?” she asked ex- 
citedly. 

“ No.” 

“ Then we must tell them at once, Robert,” she 
said ; “ for they are going to Lane Park this morning.” 

She started toward the door, but the Earl placed a 
detaining hand upon her arm. 

“ Come back,” he bade her. “ You would commit 
a most rash act, in your excitement. Archie and Maud 
must learn this themselves. It is not best that we 
should tell them.” 

“ Why ?” asked the Countess, in surprise. “ Do you 
intend to allow them to go to Lane Park without 
knowing that Izma Alvarez is there?” 

“ Certainly. Why not ? I was going to allow her 
to come to Merivale if she had not refused.” 

“ That is it,” said Lady Southwolde, growing angry 
at the very remembrance of it. “ After her insulting 
reply to your letter, I do not desire my children to 
go near her.” 

“ But Archie seemed to admire her very much,” 


92 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


said the Earl, with an odd expression in his eyes. “ I 
hardly think he will prove an enemy to Izma Alvarez.” 

The Countess started, and was silent a moment. 

“You remember,” Lord Southwolde continued, “ he 
openly declared that he had fallen in love with her.” 

“ He did not mean it,” she quickly replied ; and be- 
sides, he did not dream whom she was. When he 
learns that it is Izma Alvarez, he will readily change 
his mind.” 

“ I hope not,” said the Earl deliberately. 

The Countess looked at him closely. 

“Lord Southwolde, what do you mean?” she cried 
in sudden alarm. 

“Exactly what my words imply, my dear,” he re- 
plied. “ That I hope, if Archie is in lova with Renzo 
Alvarez’s daughter, he will remain so.” 

“Are you mad?” exclaimed the Countess. 

“ I think not. I will go mad, however, if I sit calmly 
by and make no effort to save Southwolde. You surely 
can see the wisdom in my desire, Lura. If such a 
thing as Archie marrying Izma Alvarez was possible, 
we would be saved.” 

The Countess sank breathless into the nearest chair. 

“ Heaven help us if it has come to this !” she gasped. 
“ I will never consent to it — never !” 

“ Then there is no other hope for us. I was sure 
you would be unreasonable. That is why I did not 
tell you that it was for this purpose I inHted Izma 
Alvarez to Merivale. I felt that it would be heaven’s 
blessing if those two should meet and wed.” 

The Countess sprang to her feet again, and paced 
the floor in an agitated manner. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


93 


“The girl is far beneath my son in everything!” 
she exclaimed — “ in birth, in rank, and — ” 

“ All except money,” the Earl interrupted. “ She is 
far above him in that.” 

■“ Money I I almost hate it !” she cried vehemently. 

“ Yet we cannot exist, you have learned, without it,” 
— with a calm smile. 

“ Oh, I had had such great hopes of Archie’s future 
— such brilliant views for his marriage ; and to think 
of giving him to Izma Alvarez I I cannot ! He shall 
not be sacrificed !” 

“Wait, my dear. You have gone too far. There 
may not be the least chance of such a thing. Even if 
Archie should love the girl, she might refuse him.” 

Lady Southwolde broke into a shrill laugh. 

“ Ah, my lord, you need not fear for that!” she said. 
“ Miss Alvarez may decline to visit us at Merivale ; 
but to be Lady Dancourt, future Countess of South- 
wolde, is quite another thing. You may feel safe 
there — quite safe. Archie has only to offer himself — 
take my word for it.” 

“ I would like to feel equally as certain. I should 
feel much better, I assure you.” 

“ But, tell me, is there no other way to save South- 
Avolde?” cried the Countess, entreatingly. 

“ If there is, I have not yet been able to discover it. 
If you can find a better plan, I will most willingly con- 
sent to it,” the Earl replied. 

Lady Southwolde went up to him and dropped on 
her knees beside his chair. 

“You will remember that?” she asked eagerly, 
grasping his arm. “If I can find another. means to 
save Southwolde, you will consent to it.*’ 


94 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“ I will not be likely to forget it ; but I cannot put 
mucli faith in your efforts, Lura, since all my own have 
thus far failed,” he replied, with a laugh. 

“ You do not know how earnest I am,” she said. 
“ I cannot sleep at night for thinking of this thing, 
and trying to see a way by which I can help you in 
your trouble.” 

“ Then I should think that you would be eager for 
this marriage of which I speak.” 

“ No, no ! Anything but that. I cannot favor such 
a plan, Robert. Do you think that I could consent to 
receive the child of Renzo Alvarez for my daughter, 
when I was so bitterly opposed to her being brought 
to Merivale even when a babe ? Oh, it must not be — 
I could not bear it.” 

“ You forget that the same blood flows in Izma 
Alvarez’s and your son’s veins,” said Lord Southwolde, 
impatiently. 

“Ah, but such a little, my lord. Lady Adelene 
Dancourt was only your half-sister ; and her mother, 
I haA^e heard you say, was not near equal to your 
mother in birth.” 

“ Yet Adalene Avas the daughter of the Earl of 
Southwolde.” 

“ And Izma is the daughter of Renzo Alvarez,” said 
the Countess, triumphantly. “ Nothing can make me 
think more of her, no matter Avhat you say, Robert.” 

“ Well, it is useless to quarrel about it yet ; but if 
you are wise, you will say nothing to discourage 
Archie’s fancy for Izma Alvarez. You will be very 
likely to change your mind before the six months are 
out. My only fear is that no such good luck as this 
marriage that I hope for Avill happen to us.” 


12MA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


95 


CHAPTEE XII. 

A BAD BEGINNING. 

Meanwhile Lord Dancourt and Lady Maud had 
ridden over to Floradene, blissfully ignorant of what 
w^as taking place in their mother’s boudoir at Meri- 
vale, and found Lord Charleroy and Miss Thoresby in 
readiness, awaiting their arrival. Lord Charleroy 
stood on the steps of the balcony, leaning carelessly 
against the large column at his side, and evidently 
watching for them as they rode, and Lady Maud could 
not help noticing how handsome he was as he stood 
there in that attitude of unconscious grace. 

As they drew nearer and stopped their horses, he 
hurried down the steps, with a smile of welcome, and 
made his way to Lady Maud, to assist her to the 
ground ; but she shook her head and returned his 
smile, saying that she would not dismount, as they 
Avere late already. 

“ Where is Miss Thoresby ?” asked Archie at once, 
looking around him for the missing one. “ Isn’t she 
ready ?” 

‘‘She is, and has been so for the last half hour. 
Lord Dancourt,” announced Valerie herself, who 
emerged from the recess of the window, where she had 
been standing, followed by Lady Thoresby, and came 
towards them. 

Archie saluted them by touching his hat, and, alight- 
ing, went up to where they stood. 


96 iZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

“Am I so mncli behind- time ?” he asked. “I 
thought I would give them time to have breakfast at 
Lane Park, you know.” 

“ What, the ghosts !” exclaimed Lady Thoresby, in 
assumed astonishment. 

“ Lady Thoresby, some one has been imposing upon 
your credulity,” said Archie, in an earnest tone. 

“ Yet I heard, from a reliable source, that you had 
fallen in love with a ghost at Lane Park,” she de- 
clared, laughing. 

“ Then it was a very healthy one, 1 assure you.” 

“And very beautiful too, was it not?” said Yalerie. 

“ Lady Thoresby has only to come with us and see 
for herself on that question,” Lord Dancourt replied. 

“ No indeed ; I should be quite afraid,” she refused, 
with pretended dismay. 

“ You need not, under my care. Lady Thoresby ; for 
it would be quite a pleasure for me to seize the ghost, 
if it is the one that I have seen,” said Lord Dancourt, 
boldly. 

“ Go ! that is enough of you,” commanded Lady 
Thoresby, giving him a little push toward the steps. 

Archie threw his head back with a blithesome laugh, 
and, taking Valerie’s small, gloved hand, led her out 
to where the horses were standing. 

Lord Charleroy was already mounted ; and a hand- 
some pair he and Lady Maud made as they sat there 
side by side in their saddles. 

“We will allow you to take the lead, Dancourt,” 
Lord Charleroy said, as he made room for the latter 
to pass him, “ since you are quite accustomed to the 
route to Lane Park.” 

“ But take care that you do not lag too far behind,” 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 97 

bade Arcliie, with a smile and a wink, that went nearer 
the mark than he imagined. Lady Maud endeavored 
to look unconscious — for she felt that Lord Charleroy 
had turned his eyes upon her — but she would have 
given much to pull her brother’s ears, and avenge her- 
self. 

Lady Thoresby smiled as she watched them gallop 
from sight, and was not displeased to see that the 
friendship which had begun in Lord Charleroy’s and 
Lady Maud’s childhood, had stood the test of the 
years during which they had lived apart. 

Lady Maud would not have dreamed that through 
her mask of pride and coldness it was possible to see 
the true state of her heart ; yet a woman’s eyes are 
quick to see, and Lady Thoresby was inclined to be- 
lieve that her indifference to her brother was more or 
less assumed. 

But she would not have said this to Lord Charleroy 
if she had had known it to be true, for she was no 
enemy to her sex ; and “ the vanity of man was great 
enough,” she had often said, “ without taking a step to 
increase it.” So my lord was left to manage his own 
affairs, and discover Lady Maud’s sentiments for him 
as best he might. 

That he did wish to know whether or not she was 
indifferent to him, there was little doubt ; but he al- 
most feared to approach her. Never yet had he even 
dared so much as to ask her if she remembered their 
childhood betrothal. He was quite sure that it was 
very distinct in his own memory, yet Lady Maud was 
several years younger than himself ; and she had been 
such a child when they parted that, if no one had 
thought to remind her of it since then, it was very 


/ 


98 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

probable that she had forgotten it. The Earl of 
Southwolde, too, might not have thought his promise 
made so long ago still binding ; he might even have 
other views for his daughter, or he might have wil- 
fully withheld from her the knowledge of that con- 
tract with his old friend Basil Charleroy. Perhaps 
now that the son of the man whom he had once so 
dearly loved had proven to be a wild, reckless sort of 
fellow, who was not at all particular whether he saved 
the wealth of his ancestors or spent it. Lord South- 
wolde looked higher for a husband for Lady Maud. 

Lord Charleroy thought all this, and he had weighed 
it in his mind long before he returned to Eloradene. 
For this very reason, more than any other, he had re- 
mained away from England, until all who knew him 
had given up the hope of his ever returning. 

“I must either reform or remain away from Flora- 
dene, and give Lady Maud Dancourt the chance to 
love and wed another before I presume to claim of 
her her father’s promise,” he had said. And year after 
year he had declared that he would give up his folly, 
but it was so hard to break away from the old ties and 
settle down to what he termed “ a quiet life.” 

He was a spendthrift ; he knew it — there was no one 
more alive to his faults. He had lost on races and at 
the gaming-table ; had feasted his friends and enjoyed 
himself so lavishly that the support of his estate was 
indeed almost lain waste ; yet like the moth that flut- 
ters around the candle, he continued to scorch his 
wings, heedless of his own injury. 

There was no one to remonstrate with him — he was 
entirely alone and free ; but occasionally, when he 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


99 


thought of his waywardness, he would berate his own 
self, saying : 

“ I am a worthless scamp — not fit to live. I can 
never return to Floradene.” And then a longing for 
home would rush over him. He could see the old 
mansion where he had first beheld the light of day — 
where deer browsed in the park, and his sister’s pet- 
ted pea-fowls strutted on the green terrace ; he could 
imagine himself a boy again, kneeling at his mother’s 
knee and repeating the prayer that she had taught 
him asking the Lord to make him good and forgive all 
his childish sins ; then he was at Merivale once more, 
romping with Archie Dancourt and the beautiful gold- 
en-haired girl that he had loved with all the strength 
of his boyish passion ; and when he awoke from his 
dream, he would cry out with pain, resolving to be a 
better man for the sake of the lesson that his dead 
mother had taught him in his childhood. 

And the time came when there was a change in him ; 
and “Elwood, the generous-hearted,” as his associates 
had called him, refused at last to be led astray. 

“ I have been a fool and a dishonor to my race ; but 
even yet I can save myself,” he decided. “ I will re- 
turn to Floradene, even though my former friends de- 
spise me.” 

He did not stop to think that he had been far away 
from England, and that there were but few who really 
knew of his reckless career. Conscious of his own 
guilt, it seemed to him that it was an open book to 
others ; and the coldness with which he had been re- 
ceived by Lady Maud Dancourt on that well-remem- 
bered morning of his arrival at Floradene was in no 
wise surprising to him. He did not blame her for the 


100 


IZMA ; OR, SU^^SHINE AND SHADOW. 


words he had heard her say. He was a “ poor excuse 
for a man,” after all, he thought ; and who had a bet- 
ter right to call him such than her whom he had ne- 
glected ? 

Yet the words had wounded him more than he cared 
to admit ; and every time he looked at Lady Maud’s 
fair, proud face, he would think of them, and turn his 
eyes away impatiently, mentally calling himself a fool 
for even dreaming of gaining her favor. No doubt, he 
thought, she was already a more favored lover’s be- 
trothed wife, for she was by far too beautiful not to 
have had many suitors for her hand ; and he felt that 
to ask her to fulfil the promise made by her father to 
his own would be an open presumption. 

Yet Lady Maud was wondering all the while that 
he did not say something of their betrothal ; and 
though she had made up her mind before his arrival 
at Floradene to tell him that he was free, she did not 
have the courage to say the words until Lord Charle- 
roy had made some allusion to the subject, and she 
was quite sure that he thought of the matter in a seri- 
ous light. 

So when they found themselves alone together, there 
was a constraint between them which neither could 
understand ; but on this morning, as they rode side 
by side on their way to Lane Park, Lady Maud was in 
the best of spirits, and talked and laughed with Lord 
Charleroy which both surprised and charmed him. 

“Do you know. Lady Maud, you are like your old 
self to-day,” he said to her, looking into her face with 
admiring eyes. “ I thought you had changed ; but I 
see you now as you were when a child — at the time 
when I left you. Have you forgotten that dav?” 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


101 


She would like to have said she had, but she could 
not be untruthful. 

“ No,” she replied, without looking at him. “ I was 
quite old enough to remember.” 

“ But you would not have known me again after so 
many years,” he said, with a touch of reproach in his 
voice, remembering the words she had said to him on 
their first meeting. 

“No; one’s memory cannot hold good forever. Lord 
Charleroy.” 

“ True, perhaps,” he admitted, with an involuntary 
sigh ; “ yet I should have known you anywhere. It was 
because, I suppose, your image was engraven more 
deeply on my mind. I think I remember every in- 
stance of our childhood days together. Lady Maud.” 

“What a broad mind you must have, my lord!” 
she exclaimed, with a nervous laugh. “ I myself am 
very forgetful.” 

“ I believe you,” he said. “ Had you forgotten that 
there ever was an Elwood Charleroy until I returned 
to Floradene and reminded you?” 

“ N — not quite ; but it had been so long, you know,” 
she hesitated. 

“ I would have come back to Floradene years ago, 
but I knew there was no one to care,” he said half 
sadly. “ There is no living being. Lady Maud, whom 
my movements affect.” 

“ Your sister. Lady Thoresby,” she reminded him, 
quickly. 

“ She cares for me, of course ; but my mode of living, 
you must admit, does not affect her. I once enjoyed 
my freedom, but it seems to me now, since I have re- 


102 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

turned to Floradene, that a man requires something 
more than I possess in this life.” 

“We cannot have everything, Lord Charier oy. We 
are required to be content with what is given us,” she 
calmly replied. 

“ But i am not of that nature,” he said, giving her 
clearly cut profile, which was turned persistently^ to- 
wards him, a scrutinizing glance. 

“ Few of us are,” she granted ; “ yet the world would 
be better for it if there were more.” 

“ I am not a good man. Lady Maud ; therefore I do 
not see things in a good light.” 

“ Nor am I a perfect woman ; yet even the wicked 
may know good advice,” she said, a smile breaking 
over her face as she turned her eyes slowly towards 
him. 

“ I cannot imagine you wicked. Lady Maud,” he 
said gently. 

“ It is because you do not know me well,” she re- 
plied. 

“ And I fear that you do not mean to give me the 
chance of knowing you better. We ought to be the 
best of friends.” 

“Well, so we are ; are we not. Lord Charleroy?” 

“ Nay, more than friends, if we are loyal to the 
promise of our fathers,” he was about to add im- 
pulsively, when Lord Dancourt, who was some dis- 
tance ahead, shouted back to them, and bade them 
ride faster, as they were nearing Lane Park. 

Lady Maud looked up and caught the glimpse of 
tall towers through the interlacing trees, and knew 
that her brother was speaking truthfully. They were 
only a short distance from Lane Park, 


IZMA. ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


103 


‘^Come!” she said, with a little imperious gesture 
to Lord Charleroy ; and giving her horse a cut with 
her whip, she galloped up alongside of Archie and 
Yalerie Thoresby, and my lord hastily followed her. 

“ Are we to attempt going inside ?” asked Lady 
Maud, a little uneasily now that they were so near. 

“We will first see if the coast is clear,” replied 
Lord Charleroy. 

“ Mercy ! You wouldn’t turn back without enter- 
ing, I hope !” exclaimed Yalerie, in astonishment. “I 
shall go in at once, if for nothing else but to prevent 
Rita Thoresby from laughing at me when I return to 
Floradene. She will call you cowards, every one of 
you, and declare that you were afraid of the ghost.” 

“ Then Dancourt must take us in and introduce us,” 
said Lord Charleroy, laughing. 

“I’ll be hanged if I do!” retorted Archie. “I’m 
not the man that suggested for you to come to Lane 
Park, noway.” 

“ Of course. I had an idea that you would weaken 
at the last minute,” declared Miss Thoresby, scorn- 
fully. “I am disappointed in every one of you.” 

“ Well, as you are the bravest of the party, Yalerie, 
suppose you lead us,” suggested Lacly Maud, with a 
smile. 

“ Not a bad idea by any means, if } ou’ll promise to 
follow,” she said. 

“We will — rely upon it,” replied Lady Maud. 

“ But be sure to tell whomever you meet that we 
had no idea any one was living here,” said Lord Char- 
leroy, as Miss Thoresby rode on ahead of them. 

Yalerie made no reply, but galloped swiftly onward. 


104 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


keeping tlie towers of Lane Park, which they had 
seen in the distance, in sight. 

But as they drew nearer the place. Lord Dancourt 
saw that they had taken the wrong road to reach the 
main entrance. He shouted to Yalerie and told her 
to turn to the right, but she was too far ahead of them 
by this time to hear the sound of his voice. 

There was nothing left them but to follow ; and this 
they did, thinking that Miss Thoresby would stop 
when she saw that by this route she could not enter. 

When they were near enough to view Lane Park 
plainly, they saw that a rude fence inclosing the rear 
of the place prevented their entrance into the grounds 
unless they leaped over it, and this they of course, 
had no intention of doing while they knew a con- 
venient gateway to be on the north side. 

“ I wonder if Yalerie doesn’t see that fence,” said 
Lord Charleroy, shading his eyes with his hand, and 
watching the graceful figure ahead of him as it 
plunged on unmindful of the obstruction before her. 

“She can’t be blind,” replied Archie. 

“ She doesn’t like to be outdone, and is leading us 
on as far as possible,” said Lady Maud, laughing ; 
“ but she will be compelled to turn back.” 

“And considerably crestfallen too,” added Lord 
Charleroy, echoing her laugh, as he thought of Ya- 
lerie’s chagrin. 

“ I am not so sure about her turning back,” said 
Archie, leaning forward excitedly in his saddle. 
“Look! Good heavens!” — with a quick breath of 
alarm, as Miss Thoresby urged her horse onward — 
“I believe she is going to leap the fence !” 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


105 


“ Impossible !” exclaimed Lord Charleroy, paling at 
tlie thought. “ She would not be so rash.” 

“ I wouldn’t swear to it,” said Archie, breathlessly, 
as Yalerie drew nearer and nearer to the fence and 
her horse did not slacken. 

“ Yalerie ! Yalerie ! turn back !” called Lord Charle- 
roy, loudly, becoming alarmed. “ Lightfoot cannot 
make it !” 

But if Miss Thoresby heard, she took no heed. She 
reached the fence, her horse reared and plunged for- 
ward, there was a leap into the air, and then — just 
what the horrified lookers-on had expected took place. 
The horse missed his footing and fell to the other 
side, bearing his luckless rider with him to the 
ground. 


CHAPTEE XIII. 

IZMA AND LADY MAUD. 

It was a thrilling moment for the three that had 
witnessed the disaster. A cry of horror burst simul- 
taneously from their lips, as they saw Yalerie flung 
precipitately over the horse’s neck, and fall several 
feet distant, directly against a small summer-house, 
which was thickly covered with rose-vines, and lie 
there still and motionless. 

Breathless with haste and fright, they dashed to- 
ward the spot, but before it was possible for them to 
reach it, a slender, black-robed figure had hurried 


106 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


through the door of the little rose-arbor and was 
kneeling there on the ground at Yalerie’s side. 

Lord Dancourt was the first to reach the fence ; and 
as he dismounted his horse and leaped over the rugged 
railings, he saw that the graceful creature who had 
suddenly come upon the scene was the same beautiful 
young girl that he had seen at an upper window of 
the house, and whose rare loveliness had so captivated 
his fancy. 

Her face was now shaded by a large ; black sun-hat 
and as she sprung up, startled by his nearness, and 
turned her dark, liquid eyes upon him, she looked so 
much like a child that Archie was astonished. Yet he 
felt his heart-beats quicken as he approached her. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said, lifting his hat as she 
drew back from him half timidly ; “ but the intrusion 
is unavoidable.” 

“Yes,” she replied in a voice that was as sweet as 
the chiming of silver bells, as she looked toward Ya- 
lerie, who lay pale and unconscious there among the 
rose-vines ; “ the young lady seems to be seriously 
hurt.” 

“ She looks as if she was dead,” said Archie, drop- 
ping on one knee beside the prostrate form, and plac- 
ing his hand on her heart. 

“ Oh, surely not !” exclaimed the young girl, regret- 
fully. “ She cannot be dead.” 

“ No, her heart beats ;” he assured her, looking up. 
“ There is still a spark of life, but something must be 
done for her.” 

As he said this he looked back helplessly toward 
Lord Charleroy and Lady Maud, who were just climb- 
ing over the fence, the latter having so far forgotten 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


lor 


her dignity in her excitement as to spring from the 
top railing unassisted. 

“ Perhaps you had better bring her into the house, 
and Nurse Llorenta will help you to revive her,” said 
the young girl at his side. But Lord Dancourt awaited 
the approach of Lady Maud and Lord Charleroy be- 
fore deciding what would be best to do. 

As they came up, both glanced at the strange, beau- 
tiful girl in wonder, in spite of their agitation ; but as 
Lord Charleroy looked down at Valerie’s pale face, he 
cried out in alarm : 

“ My God ! she is dead !” he exclaimed. 

“ No, not dead, but wounded, I think,” Archie re- 
plied, as he turned the unconscious girl’s head and 
discovered an ugly gash above her left temple, which 
had struck the side of the summer-house in falling. 

Shall we carry her into the house?” 

‘'‘If the lady will permit it,” said Lord Charleroy, 
turning his glance upon the slender black figure be- 
side them. 

“ She has given me permission,” said Archie, 
quickly. 

“ Yes, come,” said she, kindly. “ I feel sure that 
Nurse Llorenta can help you.” 

Lord Charleroy bent down and took Valerie’s light 
form in his arms ; and as they followed their lovely 
guide toward the house. Lord Dancourt managed to 
drop back and - whisper to Lady Maud that the young 
girl ahead of them was the same that he had seen at 
the window of Lane Park, and to ask her if she didn’t 
think her beautiful, and if she wasn’t now convinced 
that it was something more substantial than a ghost. 
To all of which Lady Maud replied “Yes” in an ab- 


108 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

sent tone, her mind wandering at the same time to 
Lord Charleroy, who it seemed to her had been unduly 
agitated over Yalerie Thoresby’s mishap. 

How eager he had been to carry her, she thought, 
and how closely he held her in his arms now as he 
bore her unconscious form toward the house. A 
strange pang shot through Lady Maud’s heart. She 
turned her eyes away to prevent herself from seeing 
the sight that pained her. She was relieved when 
they reached the house and the young rnistress of 
Lane Park showed them into a tastefully furnished 
little sitting-room, where she motioned Lord Charle- 
roy to place his burden on the lounge. 

She then touched a small silver bell on the table, 
and it was but a moment before an old woman, whose 
swarthy skin and glittering black eyes told plainly 
that she was a Spaniard, came into the room. 

The young girl spoke to her, saying : 

“ Nurse, this lady here has been thrown from her 
horse and wounded. Carry her into my apartments 
at once and do what ^ou can for her. Be quick ! 
there is no time to lose.” 

The woman made some reply in her native tongue, 
and, going up to the lounge, raised Valerie’s uncon- 
scious form in her arms as if she had been a feather’s 
weight. 

The young mistress turned to those in the room with 
a smile that made her rare beauty something marvel- 
lous, and said : “ Nurse Llorenta does not speak 

English very well ; you must pardon her.” Then, with- 
out waiting for a reply, she turned and went towards 
the door at the other end of the apartment and flung 
it open, standing aside for the woman to pass through. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 109 

“ Will you come she asked, looking toward Lady 
Maud. “ Perhaps we may do some good. The gen- 
tlemen can wait here, if they like. I will have the 
horses put in the stable until they are ready to re- 
turn.” 

Both Archie and Lord Charleroy thanked her very 
warmly, and replied that they would wait, while Lady 
Maud followed her into the adjoining apartment, 
where Yalerie had been placed on the exquisite lace- 
draped bed. The room was such a bower of beautj 
that Lady Maud, accustomed though she was to all the 
elegance of refinement and wealth, could not resist the 
temptation to look around her. It was not the splen- 
nor of the apartment so much as the rich blending of 
bright colors that dazzled the eye ; and at any other 
time Lady Maud would have called it all too gaudy, 
and declared that the appointments of the room were 
not in taste ; but it seemed in such perfect harmony 
with the brilliant beauty of the young girl herself, that 
it charmed instead of displeasing her. 

Lady Maud seated herself ; and for the first time 
she had the opportunity of noticing the young mis- 
tress of Lane Park closely. Archie’s enthusiastic 
description of her at once came back to her mind, and 
she decided that the picture he had made of her had 
not been overdrawn. There was no question about it. 
The girl was beautiful. 

Nurse Llorenta, as her young mistress called her, 
set to work at once to do what she could for the 
wounded girl ; but she seemed in no hurry whatever 
to return to consciousness. At length the woman 
seemed to grow alarmed, and she turned to her mis- 
tress and said something in an excited tone. 


110 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

Lady Maud looked up uneasily. 

“ Is she not reviving ?” she asked. 

“ No,” the girl replied. “ Nurse thinks that a phy- 
sician had best be sent for.” 

Lady Maud arose hastily to her feet and went 
toward the room where she had left Archie and Lord 
Charleroy. 

“ I will see to it at once,” she said, as she opened 
the door, and closed it behind her. 

Both Lord Charleroy and Archie looked up eagerly 
as she entered the room ; but she made her way to the 
former, saying : 

“Miss Thoresby has not revived. Perhaps you 
had better go for your sister and bring a physician 
immediately.” 

Lord Charleroy sprang up quickly, and it seemed 
to Lady Maud’s excited fancy that he turned a shade 
paler. 

“ You need not alarm yourself unnecessarily,” she 
added, with an imperceptible sneer, as he jerked up 
his hat and hurried out. As she spoke, he looked 
back and inquired : 

“ Will you remain until I return ?” 

“ Of course,” she replied almost coldly. 

When he was gone, she turned to Lord Dancourt, 
v/ho had arisen and was walking restlessly up and 
down the room ; but before she could speak, he 
looked up, saying : 

“ Miss Thoresby’ s mishap was very unfortunate. I 
dare say Lady Thoresby will blame us with it all.” 

“How can she?” exclaimed Lady Maud, with a 
touch of indignation. “ It was a most headstrong act 
in Valerie. If she lives, she will be fortunate, after such 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


Ill 


a rash leap as she made. No, it is impossible for blame 
to be attached to any one but herself ; but ” — scorn- 
fully — “it seems that your feelings, and also Lord 
Charleroy’s, have overcome your common-sense.” 

“ It is enough to upset any one,” said Archie, impa- 
tiently. 

“ I am heartily sorry that I consented to come to 
Lane Park,” declared Lady Maud. 

“ So am I — no, I’m not. I say, Maud ” — with sud- 
den energy — “ what is the young lady’s name ?” 

“You mean the mistress of Lane Park ?” 

“Is she the mistress? I did not know. Yes, I 
mean our hostess.” 

“ I am sure I have not been inquisitive enough to 
learn,” she replied unamiably. 

“ Then you have a small amount of curiosity — that’s 
all I have to say.” 

“ You had the same opportunity to ask her your- 
self whom she was. Why didn’t you do it?” 

“ I am a man.” 

“ And I am a lady.” 

“Maud, you are aggravating. Why can’t you be 
civil?” 

“ Because I am not in a civil mood.” 

“ Then leave me,” he said, dropping down impa- 
tiently into a chair ; “ and I hope you are worth more 
in the next room.” 

Lady Maud, who was quite ready to go, obeyed the 
command and re-entered the room where Valerie was 
lying — now slowly coming back to life. She ap- 
proached the bedside and laid her hand on her damp 
brow. 

“She is reviving, is she not?” she asked of the 


112 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE ANI> SHADOW. 

nurse, who stood on the other side of her, but the 
young mistress answered her, 

“ Yes,” she replied. “ You need not be uneasy. I 
hardly think her wound is very bad.” 

“You are very kind to us,” said Lady Maud grate- 
fully. “We were hardly prepared to find such an 
agreeable neighbor at Lane Park.” 

“ Do you live near here ?” she asked quickly. 

“ Not a great distance. Have you ever heard of 
Floradene ?” 

Yes, she had seen the place. 

“ And Merivale ?” 

Lady Maud saw her start violently. 

“ Merivale !” she exclaimed. 

“ Yes — Merivale. Why does it agitate you ?” asked 
Lady Maud, in surprise. 

“ Do you live there ?” she eagerly inquired. 

“ I do j I am Lady Maud Dancourt.” 

As the latter said this, she was amazed to see the 
change that swept over the girl’s face. She drew 
back from her, cold and haughty. 

“ Be assured that I did not know this. Lady Maud 
Dancourt,” she said scornfully. 

“ Know what?” asked Lady Maud, blankly. 

“ That you were a Dancourt.” 

“ And pray what have the Dancourts done to you?” 
asked Lady Maud, in amazement. 

“ Driven my mother to her grave,” was the reply in 
a hoarse voice. 

But even yet Lady Maud did not understand. She 
looked at the pale, agitated face of the girl before her 
for several moments in mute astonishment. Nurse 
Llorenta, who had taken no part iu the conversation, 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


113 


and who was busily engaged with Valerie, placed a 
wine-glass in her hand for her to hold a moment, and 
Lady Maud took it without being aware of what she 
had done. 

“ I am quite sure that I am in ignorance of your 
meaning,” she said bewilderedly. “ The Dancourts 
are an honorable race.” 

The girl’s lip curled scornfully. 

“Honorable!” she exclaimed. “I might believe 
you ” — with a derisive laugh — “ if I had not been 
more correctly informed. Your grandfather, George 
Dancourt, Lord Southwolde, was a scoundrel. Lady 
Maud Dancourt ” — fearlessly. 

The girl’s audacity took Lady Maud’s breath away. 

“ Madam,” she indignantly exclaimed, “ who are 
you that dare to take such privilege with a noble name 
as this ?” 

“I am the daughter of a man who — oh, grievous 
misfortune 1 — did not belong to the nobility ” — with 
fine contempt ; “ yet who, in the true sense of the 
word, was every inch a nobleman — whose wife — my 
mother — even the angels would not have blushed to 
claim. If you do not know me — I am Izma Alvarez.” 

The wine-glass which had been placed in Lady 
Maud’s hand slipped from her nerveless fingers and 
fell with a crash to the floor, spilling its contents. 
She fell back speechless and amazed, staring at the 
beautiful girl who so bravelyd efended her dead par- 
ents incredulously. 

“Eenzo Alvarez’s daughter!” she exclaimed. 

“ Yes — thank Heaven ! ” was the reply. “ No 
woman was ever prouder of her name.” 

Nurse Llorenta, noticing for the first time with the 


114 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


fall of the wine-glass that there was some excitement 
between her mistress and the stranger, stopped and 
looked from one to the other in surprise. The former, 
meeting her eyes and remembering the helpless girl 
there upon the bed, suppressed her excitement as best 
she could, and calmly seated herself in a chair. 

“ It is very unfortunate that circumstances should 
have thrown us together,” she said coolly to Lady 
Maud. 

“ Yet I am glad to say. Miss Alvarez, that the 
Dancourts need not impose upon your hospitality,” 
Lady Maud replied with dignity. “ Miss Thoresby ” 
— with a nod toward the bed — “ may not be able to 
be removed at once ; but she is no relation to any one 
at Merivale, or I would risk her life in preference to 
leaving her at Lane Park.” 

“In that case I should advise you to do so,” said 
Miss Alvarez, with superb indifference. 

Lady Maud’s heart beat angrily. She could scarce- 
ly keep back the torrent of indignant words that rose 
to her lips. 

“ You need have no fear that any one at Merivale 
will trouble you,” she retorted proudly. “ If I had 
known that you were at Lane Park, we would not have 
been here to-day. You cannot regret the unfortunate 
circumstance any more than I do, Miss Alvarez ; for ” 
— significantly — “the Dancourts are very careful 
about choosing their friends.” 

Izma sprang to her feet. She was about to make 
an angry reply when there was a sudden knock out- 
side that interrupted her ; and as Nurse Llorenta 
opened the door, she saw that it was a gentleman — 
evidently the physician who had been sent for. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE ANt) SHADOW. Il5 

As soon as Lady Maud learned whom it was, she 
made her escape from the room and returned to Lord 
Dancourt, who was sitting just where she had left him 
a short while before. 

He looked up at her flushed, excited face in sur- 
prise. 

“Come!” she said, without giving him time to 
speak. “ I will leave this house immediately.” 

“What do you mean?” he asked, astonished. 
“ Lady Thoresby has not come yet. We cannot leave 
Miss Thoresby alone.” 

“ She is not alone. The physician is here, and 
doubtless Lady Thoresby is on her way. I can do 
Valerie no good ; and I tell you I will not remain at 
Lane Park another hour.” 

“Why, what has happened?” exclaimed Archie, 
rising to his feet. 

“ I have only learned the name of the peerless crea- 
ture whom you so greatly admire,” she replied, with a 
hysterical laugh. “ You might as well fall in love 
with another at once, Archie, for the mistress of Lane 
Park is Izma Alvarez.” 

At first, Archie refused to credit it ; but when Lady 
Maud related to him what had passed, and declared 
that, if he did not come with her, she would leave the 
place alone, he knew that she was speaking truthfully. 
And though he replied that he was not the least dis- 
appointed in the discovery, he felt his heart sink and 
his hopes crumble ; for how, indeed, could a Dancourt 
gain the good-will of Izma Alvarez ? 

Yet he was unwilling to leave Lane Park until the 
arrival of Lady Thoresby ; but though he coaxed and 
reasoned, it was to no pur^iose, and he was compelled 
to accompany Lady Maud back to Merivale. 


116 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


CHAPTEE Xiy. 

“SWEETS TO THE SWEET.” 

The day had without doubt been a failure and a 
disappointment. Even Archie, who was usually so 
light of heart, reached Merivale silent and gloomy, 
and when he was met in the hall by the Earl of South- 
wolde, who asked him curiously if he had enjoyed the 
day, he replied that he had no wish to live it over ; 
and without stopping to be questioned further, he 
made his way to the seclusion of his own room. 

From Lady Maud, however, the Countess learned 
all that had taken place at Lane Park ; and as soon as 
possible, the news was conveyed to the Earl. Very 
discouraging news it was, too, to him ; as Lady Maud 
had declared that they would of course never go to 
Lane Park again, as Izma Alvarez had insulted them. 
But the Countess was eager to hear what Archie him- 
self would have to say about it. 

She did not have the chance of questioning him un- 
til the following morning, when she entered the library 
and found Lord Dancourt sitting there with his feet 
propped high against the window and puffing vigor- 
ously at a cigar. His back was turned, and he was so 
completely buried in the cushions of the chair that at 
a first glance the Countess, seeing nothing but a dense 
cloud of smoke, thought the curtains were on fire ; but 
the pair of legs, which a closer observation brought 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


117 


to light, reassured her, and, with a stifled cough, she 
approached the chair. 

“ Archie,” she said reprovingly, “ how often are you 
to be told about smoking in this part of the house ? It 
is” — with another cough — “beyond one’s endurance.” 

“I beg pardon,” he said, rising to his feet, with a 
sleepy yawn, which did not speak well for his rest 
during the past night, and flinging his cigar through 
the window ; “ I thought I was alone.” 

“ Which isn’t any excuse for you” — severely. 

“ There ! it’s all gone,” he said, with a lazy smile, 
as he fanned the smoke through the window and 
dropped back into his chair. “ Don’t be hard on a 
fellow, mother, when he is all broken up, as I am this 
morning.” 

“ What is the matter ?” asked the Countess. 

“That’s what I can’t tell you. But it may be — job 
— no — I’m not certain, but I think I have just discov- 
ered that I have nerves.” 

“ That you have what ?” asked the Countess, puz- 
zled. 

“ Nerves, mother dear. You know women complain 
of having them. Yes, I am sure that is it. I couldn’t 
sleep last night on account of my nerves.” 

“ Oh !” said the Countess, comprehending at last ; 
“ you mean you are nervous.” 

“ Yes, nervous. I think the trip to Lane Park yes- 
terday made me nervous.” 

“ Very likely, as it turned out so disastrously.” 

“Have you heard from Miss Thoresby this morn- 
ing ?” Archie inquired. 

“ No ; but I shall send John to Lane Park before 
the morning is over. I trust that Miss Alvarez will 


118 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


not drive him off her premises when she learns that 
he is from Merivale” — sarcastically. 

Archie laughed dryly. 

“I feel sure that she will not,” he said. 

u ^ere you not surprised when you learned whom 
the girl was?” asked the Countess, eying him closely. 

“ Well — rather,” he confessed. “ Weren’t you ?” 

‘‘ I should say so. I was angered, as well, at her 
impudence to Maud. Of course, my son, you will have 
nothing more to do with her. You will not even speak 
to her if you should chance to meet.” 

“ That would be rather churlish, would it not, 
mother ?” he replied, with a smile. “ But I dare say 
any acquaintance on my part would be resented by 
Miss Alvarez. You need have no fear of that ; as I do 
not think I am capable of overcoming her aversion to 
the Dancourts.” 

“ Her arrogance is quite amusing,” said Lady South- 
wolde, with a laugh of derision. “She knows that 
there could be no terms of intimacy between herself 
and the Dancourts, and therefore assumes this rdZe.” 

“ But, mother, she is a lady — a true lady,” defended 
Archie. “ One can look at her and see that. No one 
need be ashamed to claim Izma Alvarez for a friend.” 

“ Oh, then, you are not yet disenchanted,” said the 
Countess, with a slight sneer. 

“ Most truly I am not. I was more charmed with 
her yesterday than ever. I am only sorry that she is 
an enemy to the Dancourts.” 

“ Bah ! Archie, you weary me,” said Lady South- 
wolde, turning away impatiently. “ I thought you had 
more pride and common-sense than to admire such a 
woman as this. I do not wish to hear any more of 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. Il9 

her.” And saying this, she swept majestically from 
the room, feeling none the better for what she had 
learned. 

But she kept her word about sending to Lane Park 
and inquiring after Miss Thoresby ; although she de- 
clared that under any other circumstances, even her 
servants should not go near the place. But she was 
eager to learn how long Valerie would be compelled 
to remain at Lane Park, for a new dread had suddenly 
sprung up in her mind. If the Thoresbys and Miss 
Alvarez should become too well acquainted, it was 
probable that the well-guarded secret of the Earl’s 
failure would remain a secret no longer, she thought. 
Benzo Alvarez’s daughter would tell them that, though 
the Dancourts boasted of their patrician blood, their 
estate was swallowed up by an enormous mortgage, and 
their income was comparatively nothing. 

Izma’s coming to England was the last thing on 
earth Lady Southwolde would have desired — and much 
less to their very neighborhood ; but that the Thores- 
bys should be detained beneath the roof of Lane Park 
was worse than she had even imagined. Nor was the 
news with which John returned to Merivale that morn- 
ing in the least consoling. It was just as she had 
feared : 

“Although Miss Thoresby was not considered in 
danger, her present condition would not permit of her 
being safely removed to Eloradene for several days to 
come, as the injury which she had received had thrown 
her into a high fever, which the physician feared might 
prove serious if there was any excitement. But Lady 
Thoresby was with her, and she was in very kind 


120 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

hands ; and with careful attention, it was thought that 
her injuries would not amount to anything.” 

This was enough to tell Lady Southwolde that the 
acquaintance between Izma Alvarez and Lady Thores- 
by was likely to ripen into intimacy ; and the more she 
thought of it, the more troubled her mind grew. It 
seemed that there was no end to her sorrow. Each 
day a new thorn sprung up in her path. 

Lady Maud regretted that she could not visit Yalerie 
during her illness, but nothing could have induced her 
to return to Lane Park. Fearing that she would think 
unkindly of her, she decided to write a note to her, 
explaining her reasons for not comipg as best she could, 
and send it with a choice bouquet to Lane Park. 

She wrote the note immediately, and went out into 
the flower-garden to clip the blossoms and array the 
bouquet with her own hands. The task was but half 
finished, however, when she was interrupted by Lord 
Charleroy, who came upon her so suddenly, as she 
was bending over a rose-bush, that she gave a little 
startled scream and dropped the flowers she held in 
her hand. 

‘‘Good gracious!” she exclaimed in a nettled tone, 
as she turned and saw whom it was, “ how you fright- 
ened me ! It always vexes me to be startled in that 
manner. Why didn’t you make a noise before you 
reached me ?” 

“I am sure I walked as heavily as possible,” he re- 
plied. “Your mind was either deeply interested in 
your work or you was thinking of something far away 
from this spot ; otherwise you would have heard me 
as I approached.” 

“ But you are the very last person I expected to see 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


121 


this morning,” she declared, turning back to the rose- 
bush and clipping another flower, while he bent down 
and gathered up those she had spilled. 

“ Why?” he asked. “ I should have thought that I 
would be the first one whom you expected after the way 
in which you ran away from Lane Park yesterday.” 

‘‘ No ; but I thought, of course, that you would be 
at Lane Park this morning,” she said. 

“ Rita is there, you know, and I am not needed. I 
haven’t been back since yesterday morning.” 

“Haven’t you indeed?” asked Lady Maud, in sur- 
prise. 

“No, I preferred coming here,” he replied, as he 
placed the flowers in her hand. “Lane Park seems 
such a beastly distance from Floradene ; and I thought 
I would be more appreciated elsewhere.” 

“ Why, Lane Park isn’t much farther than Merivale !” 
said Lady Maud, with admirable unconcern, as she 
continued to clip the roses, but pleased nevertheless 
at the choice that he had made. 

“ No ; but the truth is, I wanted to see you. Lady 
Maud.” 

“ Yes, no doubt I owe you an explanation for the 
way in which I left Lane Park yesterday,” she said, 
ignoring his meaning. “It was rather unfortunate, 
but Miss Alvarez and I quarrelled” — with a little scorn- 
ful smile. 

“ No, not so soon !” 

“ We did indeed. I shall never return there.” She 
turned and faced him. “ Did you ever hear of Lady 
Adelene Dancourt, Lord Gharleroy?” she asked. 

“ Yes, from my mother,” he replied. 


122 


iZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“Then you know her story, do you not?” — reluc- 
tantly. 

He nodded. 

“ I am glad of it, as it will save me the trouble of 
repeating it,” she said in a relieved tone. “ You will 
understand that there can be no feeling of friendship 
between the Dancourts and the mistress of Lane Park 
when I tell you that the latter is the daughter of Lady 
Adelene and Eenzo Alvarez — the man with whom she 
fled.” 

“Is it possible!” exclaimed Lord Charleroy, in as- 
tonishment. “ Are her parents dead ?” 

“ Yes, both of them. She is alone ; yet she refused 
the shelter of Merivale. I can never like her, my lord 
— never.” 

“ Yet she is so beautiful and refined 1” said Lord 
Charleroy, wonderingly. “ I think she is next to the 
fairest woman I ever saw. If it had not been for that 
other, I would have fallen in love with her.” 

Lady Maud’s heart grew strangely and suddenly 
cold. He was speaking of Yalerie Thoresby — she felt 
sure of it. 

“ Oh, she is beautiful enough,” she admitted, with a 
toss of her proud head as she arranged the flowers in 
her white hands ; “ but is she good enough ? That is 
the question.” 

“Will Archie too cut her acquaintance ?” he asked, 
with a smile. 

“ I hardly think Miss Alvarez will allow him an ac- 
quaintance,” she replied. “ She is no friend to the 
Dancourts. I believe, however, that he is still fool- 
ishly in love with her.” 


IZMA ; OR, StJNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


123 


‘‘No man’s love should be called foolish, Lady 
Maud.” 

Yet there should be no marriages of unequal births. 
I do not believe heaven ever intended it so.” 

“ But to my mind, Lady Maud, there never was a 
man who was equal in any respect to a pure woman. 
There is as much difference between them as in day- 
light and darkness.” 

“ Yet they may have the same mothers and the same 
fathers — their blood can be the same, their births 
equal. In one sense you may be right — the lives of 
few men are spotless ; but there is a difference, my 
lord, a wide difference, between the plebeian and the 
patrician.” 

“Would you love beneath you. Lady Maud?” 

“Not in birth.” 

“ But if a man was highly born and far beneath you 
in all else, what would you then say ?” 

“ If I knew such a man I could then tell you. Lord 
Charleroy.” 

He had flung himself down upon a bench just beside 
the rose-bush while he was speaking, and was looking 
closely up into Lady Maud’s fair, proud face. Her 
queenly beauty had never before so greatly charmed 
him. She looked so much like a princess born that 
he could not help feeling his own inferiority. She had 
drawn very near him in cutting the flowers from the 
bushes that grew around him, and moved by a sudden 
impulse, he reached out and caught her by the hand. 

“Why are you so formal with me, Lady Maud?” he 
asked. “ It is always ‘ my lord ’ and ‘ Lord Charleroy ’ 
whenever you speak to me ; and I remember the time 
when it was nothing but ‘ Elwood,’ ” 


124 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

“ You forget,” she said, flushing and attempting to 
draw her hand away from him, “ we were then children. 
We are too old now to use such freedom.” 

“ I think we are yet very young,” he replied, with a 
tender smile. 

But let go my hand. Lord Charleroy. See ! you 
are causing me to spill all my flowers again, and I 
meant to send them to Yalerie.” 

“ Sit here beside me, and I will help 3 ^ou to arrange 
them,” he said, drawing her down upon the bench in 
spite of her efforts to release herself. “ I intend to 
keep you until I have heard you use the old familiar 
name.” 

‘‘Do you think you can compel me?” she asked, 
shutting her lips tightly. 

He laughed. 

“No — never; but perhaps I can persuade you. 
Won’t you say it — just to hear how it would sound ?” 

“ Oh, let us finish the bouquet,” she replied evasive- 
1}^ “ If you don’t help me, I shall not sit here.” 

“You are very cruel to me. Lady Maud,” he said 
reproachfully, as he began to pick up the flowers in 
her lap and put them together. “ Are you so to every 
one ?” 

“Not intentionally.” 

“ Then it is only to me. Why is it. Lady Maud ? 
Do you really dislike me?” 

“ I do not dislike you. Lord Charleroy.” 

“ But you had made up your mind to do so.” 

Lady Maud laughed a little amused laugh. 

“You are very unforgiving, my lord,” she said. 

“ Do you know, those words pained me very much ? 
That is why I cannot forget them.” 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


125 


She was silent. She did not even look up, but kept 
her eyes bent on the flowers in her hands, arranging 
and rearranging them, and now and then holding them 
out admiringly, as if her mind was entirely taken up 
with them. 

“ Presently I shall be growing jealous of those 
flowers,” he said, after the lapse of a minute. 

“ They are indeed pretty,” she replied, with a smile. 
“ Do you think Valerie will like them.” 

“ If she doesn’t, she will have very poor taste.” 

Another momentary pause, in which Lady Maud 
grew very nervous. 

Suddenly, without speaking. Lord Charleroy cov- 
ered the white hand lying idly on her lap with his 
own. She looked up startled ; but there was some- 
thing in his face which prevented her ti:om drawing it 
away from him. Her eyes dropped again, and her 
heart thrilled with a new sweet sensation. 

He leaned nearer to her, and she could feel his hot 
breath fan her cheek. In that moment she forgot all 
her former resolutions and misgivings. She knew 
nothing but her love for the man at her side. 

‘‘Maud,” he breathed passionately, “if I was only 
sure that your heart was free, I am mad enough to 
hope to-day that you have not forgotten the betrothal 
that was made for us in our childhood. Tell me with 
your own lips that you remember it.” 

“ I do,” she replied softly, with downcast eyes. 

“And you have been true to it?” eagerly. 

“ You have no right to ask me that,” she said quick- 
ly, looking up and drawing away from him. 

“ Why have I not ? The Earl of Southwolde gave 
you to me long ago, by a sacred promise^ and I like 


126 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


you better than any girl I ever saw. Why have I not 
the right to know whether in my absence your heart 
has gone out to another ?” 

She had opened her lips and was about to reply 
when, chancing to raise her eyes again, she saw Lord 
Dancourt in the distance, coming toward them, and 
drew nervously away from Lord Charleroy’s side. 

“ There comes Archie,” she said. And Lord Charle- 
roy, following her glance and seeing that she was right, 
rose to his feet, with a muttered “ Confound it !” 

A moment, however, and he turned back to Lady 
Maud. She too had arisen, and he reached out and 
possessed himself of both her hands. 

“Now grant my first request of you, before he 
reaches us,” he said beseechingly. 

“ How am I to remember she asked demurely. 

“ Oh, don’t be unkind. Quick ! Archie is very 
much nearer.” 

She glanced up into his face swiftly and shyly, her 
eyes sought the ground again, and then, her cheeks 
crimsoning, she murmured : 

“ Elwood!” 


CHAPTEK X^. 

A DOUBTFUL HEART. 

By the time Lord Dancourt reached the two. Lady 
Maud was again busying herself among the flowers, 
and Lord Charleroy was making a pretence of help- 
ing her ; but as Archie came up, he looked curiously 
into Lady Maud’s flushed face. 


iZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 127 

Oh, ho !” he thought, “ I have interrupted a tete-d~ 
tHe” But he endeavored to appear very uncenscious. 

‘‘ So Maud has put you to work, has she, Charle- 
roy ?” he said, with a smile. “ I thought so, from the 
way in which you lingered out here. I waited for you 
to return to the house until my patience grew thread- 
bare.” 

“ We were just coming as we saw you,” replied Lord 
Charier oy, glibly. 

‘‘ Then I might have waited ; but I wanted to ask 
you if you wouldn’t run up to London with me to- 
night.” 

“ To-night ! For what ?” 

‘‘ Oh, nothing — only it’s so dull at Merivale just 
now, that I thought a change might help us both. I 
believe you are alone at Floradene, too. Wouldn’t 
you like it for a few days ?” 

“ I wouldn’t mind,” replied Lord Charleroy ; “ but ” 
— with a glance toward Lady Maud, who refused to 
look up — “ why not wait until to-morrow ?” 

“ Then I wouldn’t be in the same notion. No ; if I 
go, it must be to-night, so that we will be in London 
to-morrow.” 

“ Well, I might go,” consented Lord Charleroy, 
with evident reluctance, “ if it is to be for only a few 
days.” 

“ I give you my word I do not intend to remain 
long. I will return at your pleasure. Go, if for 
nothing else but to oblige me,” insisted Archie. 

“ Well, to oblige you, then, I have consented.” 

Lady Maud at this moment looked up and turned 
toward Lord Charleroy. 

Good-bye,” she said, holding out her hand to him. 


128 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

** I will not see you any more if you are going away 
to-niglit. I must leave you now, as I am in haste to 
send these” — touching the flowers in her hand — “ and 
a message to Lane Park.” 

Lord Charleroy took her hand and gave it a gentle 
pressure ; and before he could frame a reply, she had 
turned from him and was hurrying toward the house. 

He looked after her wistfully, forgetting himself 
until Archie spoke to him. 

If Lady Maud had been left to decide the question, 
she would have much preferred that Lord Charleroy 
would not go to London. He had been away from 
Floradene so long that it seemed to her that he might 
remain at home a while longer before again going 
away. She was vexed with Archie for proposing it, 
and disappointed with Lord Charleroy for accepting. 
Why could he not have refused ? 

She was not as happy as she might have been, al- 
though her pulses quickened and the color came and 
went in her cheeks as she thought of what had oc- 
curred in the flower-garden only a short while before. 

She sent her message on its way to Valerie, and 
then, unobserved, slipped away to her own room, 
where she locked herself in and sat down to think over 
all that Lord Charleroy had said to her. 

She was disappointed — she was forced to admit it — 
after having reviewed the scene several times. After 
all, she thought, what had he said to her to cause her 
to show her own love for him ? True, Lord DancouH 
had interrupted him, but then he had only said that 

he liked her, and had called her nothing but “ Maud ” 

plain Maud, with nothing else to it ; and even the Duke 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


129 


of Ellesmere had been more lover-like than that, when 
she had never given him the least encouragement. 

Oh, if she had only been more prudent ! she 
thought, a flush of shame creeping up to her proud 
face, as she remembered how she had allowed Lord 
Charleroy to see that she cared for him. Perhaps 
because of the contract between their fathers, he felt 
in duty bound to propose to her ; and perhaps even 
now he was regretting that her heart was his own. 
Oh, why did she not think of all this beforehand, and 
not allow her passion to master her ? She could at 
least have put him to the test by offering him his free- 
dom. 

‘‘ I will do it when he returns,” she decided at last. 
“It is not too late. He shall see that I am not so 
eager for him as he thought. I will not be so weak as 
to be easily won after his long neglect of me. When 
he wins Lady Maud Dancourt, he will have to love her, 
not like her, even though she suits his fancy better 
than ‘ any girl he ever saw.’ ” 

And though her own foolish pride made her misera- 
ble, she was determined to keep her word in this in- 
stance, no matter what it cost her. 

The Countess of Southwolde smiled signiflcantly 
when she heard that Lord Charleroy was going away. 

“Dear, dear!” she exclaimed in surprise. “Why, 
he hardly reaches home before he runs off again. I 
would not allow it, Maud.” 

“ I have nothing to do with it,” Lady Maud replied 
curtly. 

“ I wouldn’t make such an ado over nothing, moth- 
er,” said Lord Dancourt, who was standing by, in a 
rather disgusted tone. “ Lord Charleroy is only going 


130 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


to London with me for a few days. No sensible woman 
could surely object to that.” 

“ But I was only thinking how much he must dis- 
like Floradene, and if he should take it into his head 
to remain away as long as he did before, you know,” 
she said, mildly. 

“ He is not liable to have any such a turn,” replied 
Archie, impatiently. “ I dare say Maud is not afraid 
of it ” — looking ^t the latter with a meaning smile. 

Lady Southwolde glanced quickly from one to the 
other to see if anything had occurred which she had 
not heard, but it was impossible to gain the least 
clue from her daughter’s calm countenance. 

Her suspicions, however, had been aroused ; and the 
following day, after Archie and Lord Charleroy’s de- 
parture, she went into Lady Maud’s room, and, after a 
few incidental remarks, said to her : 

“ It seems, my dear, that Lord Charleroy is as slow 
about proposing as he was in coming back to Flora- 
dene. How long had you known the Duke of Elles- 
mere before he asked you to become his wife ?” 

Lady Maud was not surprised. She had been ex- 
pecting this, and was prepared for it. 

“ The Duke? Oh, I had known him quite a month, 
I think,” she replied, calmly. 

“ A month ! And you have been knowing Lord 
Charleroy a lifetime.” 

Lady Maud smiled, but did not reply. 

‘‘ What is the man thinking about, can you tell me ?” 
the Countess asked. 

“ I am sure I don’t know,” Lady Maud answered, 
pretending to suppress a yawm. 

“ Has he never said a word to you ?” 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


131 


‘‘ Yes, mother, a great many.” 

“ Maud, do not he insolent,” reproved the Countess, 
becoming vexed at the failure of her cross-questioning. 

Lady Maud laughed good-humoredly. 

“ I do not mean to be,” she replied. 

“ I think I shall ask your father to speak to Lord 
Charleroy as soon as he returns home,” said Lady 
Southwolde, tersely. 

The expression of Lady Maud’s face changed in- 
stantly, just as the Countess knew it would. 

“ Mother, you forget that this is very trying,” she 
said reproachfully. “ Are you eager to be rid of me ? 
If not, why should father speak to Lord Charleroy ?” 

“ No ; but I fain would keep you for a better man, 
Maud,” she replied earnestly. “ If your father spoke 
to Lord Charleroy, it would be to tell him that he need 
not aspire for his daughter’s hand.” 

‘‘Oh, I see!” said Lady Maud, suppressing her 
rising anger. “All this is to turn me against Lord 
Charleroy ; but you can never do it, mother, — it is use- 
less to try. I shall never di»like him so long as I 
live.” 

“Indeed 1” exclaimed the Countess, sneeringly. And 
Lady Maud, knowing that she could no longer control 
herself, arose and hastily left the room. 

But there was yet another trial that she was to 
undergo. A few days later, the Countess received a 
letter from Lady Bromley, an aunt to the Duke of 
Ellesmere, and the very same that had brought about 
the acquaintance between his highness and Lady Maud, 
saying that she would at last accept Lady Southwolde’s 
kind invitation to visit Merivale, and that she would 


132 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


leave London at once, reaching her destination on the 
day following that on which the letter was received. 

So nothing was left but to prepare for her, and 
though Lady Maud secretly disliked her, and was dis- 
pleased at her coming, she was forced to greet her 
pleasantly when she arrived. Neither was the Count- 
ess pleased, on account of their straitened circum- 
stances ; but outside of this, there was no one in whom 
she delighted more than Lady Bromley. 

True, she was a gossip — no one escaped her. Be 
they “ as chaste as ice, as pure as snow,” Lady Brom- 
ley did not spare them ; but this was no reason why she 
should be distasteful to the Countess of Southwolde. 
Besides, no one could afford to slight one so rich and 
highly connected as this aunt of the Duke of Elles- 
mere — the latter, to the Countess, being the principal 
clause in her favor. In personal appearance — as Lord 
Dancourt had once declared — she was “positively 
nothing.” She was by no means handsome; yet Lady 
Maud, at least, might have forgiven her for her lack of 
beauty, if it had not b^n for her dumpy figure, which 
so reminded her of the Duke. 

Perhaps her relationship to the Duke of Ellesmere 
was the beginning of Lady Maud’s dislike ; but the 
latter felt quite sure that Lady Bromley could not re- 
main long at Merivale without making herself disa- 
greeable to some one. 

It came about rather sooner than she expected, 
however — being the very day of her arrival, and hap- 
pening to fall directly upon herself. 

Lady Bromley had scarcely made herself comfort- 
able in the house before she inquired for Lord Dan- 
court. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSr^NE AND SHADOW. 


133 


“ Where is your son, Lady Southwolde ?” she asked. 
“Is he 'not at Merivale?” 

“No, Lady Bromley. I am sorry, but he went up 
to London a few days ago,” the Countess replied. 

“ Indeed ! I shall regret it if I do not get to see 
him.” 

“ Oh, he is only to be gone a short while. He will 
return,. I dare say, before we think of allowing you to 
leave us.” 

“ Ah ! a short business trip, I presume,” said Lady 
Bromley, blandly. 

“ No ; Archie seldom troubles himself with business 
affairs,” the Countess replied, smiling. “ I think he 
only went for a change ; as he was tired of the monot- 
ony of Merivale.” 

“I suppose he went alone” — inquisitively. 

“ Lord Charleroy accompanied him,” replied the 
Countess, quietly. 

“Lord Charleroy!” exclaimed Lady Bromley, hold- 
ing up her hands in horror. “ You don’t mean to tell 
me. Lady Southwolde, that your son is in London 
with Lord Charleroy I” 

Lady Maud, who was sitting apart from the two, on 
the other side of the room, glanced up quickly, with 
an eager flush on her face. The Countess looked at 
her guest in surprise. 

“ Certainly,” she replied. “ What is wrong with 
Archie being with Lord Charleroy ?” 

“ Oh, such company, Lady Southwolde 1 Yoar son 
will be ruined,” Lady Bromley declared in a shocked 
tone. 

The Countess 'quickly saw Lady Bromley’s meaning; 
but she did not wish to appear too ready to under- 


134 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


stand. She glanced at Lady Maud to see if she was 
listening, and, satisfying herself on that question, 
turned back to her disagreeable guest, saying : 

“ The Charleroys were ever considered one of the 
best families in England, your ladyship. What do 
you mean?” 

“ Their pedigree does well enough, Lady South- 
wolde ; but this Lord Charleroy — oh, I am really sur- 
prised that you have not heard what an undesirable 
young man he is ! Why, I learned long before he re- 
turned to England, that he had wasted a fortune ; but 
that isn’t the worst of it. He hasn’t even made a pre- 
tence of reforming ; and is even now in London on a 
spree.” 

Lady Maud could no longer subdue her indignation. 

“ You must certainly be mistaken. Lady Bromley,” 
she said, her bosom heaving. “Archie and Lord 
Charleroy went away together ; and I am quite sure 
that it was not for the purpose of a ‘ spree ’ ” — with 
slight scorn on the latter word. 

“ I beg your pardon, my dear,” replied Lady Brom- 
ley, apologetically. “I had indeed forgotten that 
Lord Charleroy lived at Floradene, and was probably 
a friend of yours. But as for Lord Dancourt, he is 
no doubt innocent. I knew nothing of him being 
with Lord Charleroy until a moment ago ; and you 
will not wonder at my amazement when you have 
heard me through. You have not lived long enough 
yet. Lady Maud, to learn the world, but it is quite 
true that one man knows another. So when my 
nephew, the Duke of Ellesmere, came to me a few 
days before I left London and told me how Lord 
Charleroy was disgracing himself and going headlong 


iZMA ; OK, suNsnmE and shadow. 


135 


to his rum, I could not possibly doubt it, as there was 
no chance of his being mistaken.” 

“ The Duke of Ellesmere !” exclaimed the Countess, 
in astonishment. ‘‘ I thought your nephew was 
abroad. Lady Bromley.” 

“ So he was ; but he returned just two weeks ago,” 
she replied, giving Lady Maud a sidelong glance. “ I 
can hardly understand Allan of late. Something 
seems wrong with him.” 

“ Is it possible,” said Lady Southwolde, dryly. And 
Lady Maud, who was annoyed beyond endurance, rose 
to her feet and made her escajje through the open 
window there at her side. Angry, disappointed, and 
miserable, she hurried across the balcony and terrace, 
and, reaching the lime walk at last, flung herself down 
and gave way to a passionate flt of tears. 


CHAPTEE XVI. 

A DAY AT FLOEADENE. 

A WEEK went by, and there was little change except 
that Valerie Thoresby had sufficiently recovered to be 
removed from Lane Park to Eloradene, and Lord 
Thoresby had come down from Scotland to be with 
his wife. The days at Merivale grew melancholy for 
Lady Maud. She began to think at last that the old 
place wasn’t much without Archie, and to heartily 
wish for his return home. Lady Bromley lingered 
with a persistency that discouraged even the Countess ; 
but she was too well bred to make the least display 


136 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

of lier true feelings, even if she had not had a deeper 
motive for courting the good-will of the Duke of 
Ellesmere’s aunt. 

In the mean time, she did not lose occasion to be- 
come confidential with Lady Bromley, and to whisper 
to her that it was her opinion that Maud had refused 
the Duke rashly, and had since then regretted it. 
She was quite sure, she said, that it was only one of 
her daughter’s caprices, which could easily be over- 
come if the Duke should again seek her. Like most 
proud young girls, she did not desire to be lightly 
won, and his highness had been too ready to accept 
her “ no ” to please her. The Countess felt assured 
that it had all been a mistake, and that, if the Duke 
had not gone abroad so quickly, it would have been 
righted ere now. 

Lady Bromley was delighted at this speech ; for it 
was nothing more nor less than in the behalf of her 
nephew that she had come to Merivale. She was per- 
fectly conscious, too, of Lady Maud’s early betrothal 
to Lord Charleroy, in spite of her pretended ignorance 
of the fact. How she had learned it, no one exactly 
knew ; but, then, no one could tell how she learned 
everything. For the very reason of this betrothal 
she had spoken against Lord Charleroy in the pres- 
ence of Lady Maud, and, indeed, had said things 
which were not strictly true ; for, though the Duke of 
Ellesmere had seen Lord Charleroy in London, and 
had stood beside him at the club-rooms when he took 
a single glass of wine, this was the only ground her 
ladyship had for asserting that the master of Flora- 
dene was in London “on a spree” and “going to his 
ruin, and disgracing himself.” 


ISMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


137 


The seed of distrust, however, had been sown in 
Lady Maud’s heart, and for a whole week she had 
been restless and unhappy. It seemed too that 
Lord Charleroy and Archie were remaining away 
longer than they had promised. 

During the week, Lady Maud had gone once to 
rioradene, but even this visit hardly satisfied her. 
She had found Valerie looking paler and some thinner 
than usual, and Lady Thoresby had been loud in her 
praises of Izma Alvarez. She was by far the most 
beautiful girl she had ever seen, and one of the sweet- 
est and kindest hearted. She and Valerie both had 
fallen in love with her, and it seemed so lonely for 
her at Lane Park that they had invited her to visit 
them often at Floradene. Lady Thoresby was very 
sorry that Lady Maud did not like her ; but she hoped 
to be the means of yet bringing about a friendship 
between them, and overcoming the prejudice which 
existed between the Dancourts and Miss Alvarez. 

Lady Maud, however, declared that it could never 
be, and expressed a wish as to never be so unfortunate 
as to meet Miss Alvarez at Floradene, hinting some- 
thing about being careful in choosing her friends, and 
smiling in such a significant manner as to call forth a 
resentful remark from Lady Thoresby, who reminded 
her that Isma Alvarez was only a friend to herself 
and Valerie, and, if she wasn’t much mistaken, she was 
a relative to the Dancourts. 

This caused a coolness to arise between the two, 
and for several days Lady Maud had neither sent nor 
gone to Floradene. She decided, in her own mind, 
that it would be best to let the Charleroys alone for- 
ever. Yet she grew very tired of her own company, 


138 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHIJ^E AND SHADOW. 


and once or twice came very near weakening in her 
resolve. At the end of the week she had read until 
even Byron, her favorite, seemed commonplace and 
monotonous. His love ditties, his wit and scepticism, 
all wearied her alike. She had painted a litte, had 
made a vain attempt at a picture, and drummed on the 
piano in the hope of driving Lady Bromley mad, 
until, having exhausted every means of entertaining 
herself, she was quite ready to forgive and forget 
when Lady Thoresby sent the carriage over to Meri- 
vale with the message that she was to come to Flora- 
dene at once. 

It was a great relief to Lady Maud, for she would 
have much preferred Lady Thoresby to make the ad- 
vances ; and she did not hesitate to prepare herself 
quickly, and readily comply with the request. It was 
something, she told the Countess when taking her 
leave, to spend the day away from that “great old 
nuisance. Lady Bromley, who was enough like the 
Duke of Ellesmere to be his sister instead of his 
aunt.” 

With this discouraging remark, she took her depart- 
ure ; and she had been gone scarcely an hour, when 
Lord Dancourt and Lord Charleroy both presented 
themselves at Merivale, dusty and travel -stained, hav- 
ing just arrived from London on the last train. 

They were disappointed to learn that Lady Maud 
was not there — particularly Lord Charleroy, who said 
he would go over to Floradene at once ; and Archie 
agreed to follow him in a short while and bring Lady 
Maud home. 

When Lady Bromley heard of this, she shook her 
head disapprovingly, saying that young ladies nowa- 


iZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 139 

days were not prudent as they once were, and that in 
her maidenhood nothing could have induced her to 
visit a house where a young man lived that was pay- 
ing her attention. 

Archie, who was just quitting the room as the re- 
mark was uttered, turned back and muttered “ that 
times had changed since the dark ages but the 
Countess coughed and cleared her throat so loudly 
that Lady Bromley fortunately failed to understand 
him. 

It was quite a surprise to Lady Maud, however, 
when Lord Charleroy rode up to Floradene in a hired 
fly and entered the library, where they sat. Even 
Lady Thoresby had not expected him. 

Lady Maud, who was laughing when he came into 
the room, froze, as if by magic, on sight of him. He 
went to her first and extended his hand, but she only 
gave him her finger-tips. He looked at her in surprise, 
but she would not meet his eyes. He glanced around 
him. 

“ Ho one seems pleased to see me,” he said. And 
then, meeting Valerie’s smile of welcome, he went up 
to her, telling her how pleased he was to see her 
back at Floradene again, and hoping that she would 
soon be fully recovered. 

At this moment Lord Thoresby, who was a tall, well- 
built man of pleasant, if not handsome, features, came 
into the room, and, after greeting Lord Charleroy took 
the very seat by Lady Maud that Lord Charleroy him- 
self had intended to appropriate. 

Lady Maud, however, appeared delighted, and, 
piqued at her coldness, my lord threw himself down 
beside Valerie and made himself as agreeable as pos- 


140 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

sible until Lord Dancourt, a short time later, arrived. 
Then Lady Thoresby, who had a superb voice, was 
asked to sing ; and they all repaired to the drawing- 
room, where, greatly against her will. Lord Charleroy 
succeded in getting next to Lady Maud. 

Still, she would not even look at him. 

He made several attempts to engage in conversation 
with her, but she would only reply in monosyllables 
and then relapse into silence. 

Finally he said to her : 

“ You are in one of your cruel moods to-day. Lady 
Maud. Perhaps I was foolish to expect it, but I 
imagined a different welcome from this. What have I 
done to you ?” 

“ Nothing — nothing, of course,” she replied in inno- 
cent surprise. “What did you expect me to do?” 

“Give me a smile, at least. You haven’t even 
looked at me.” 

“ Oh, is that it ?” she exclaimed mildly, giving him 
a cold stare. “ I never thought to look at you.” 

“That is worse,” he said despairingly. “I was 
happy while away, be — ” 

“ Then, why did you return ?” she interrupted, with- 
out giving him a chance to complete his sentence. “ I 
wouldn’t live at a place that was so distasteful to me.” 

“Wait until I have finished,” he said quietly. “I 
was happy because I believed I had left some one be- 
hind me that cared for me.” 

“ I told you all along that Lady Thoresby was de- 
voted to you,” she replied, refusing to understand. 

“ No, not Lady Thoresby,” he contradicted. 

“ Miss Thoresby, then. She is equally as fond of 
you,” she said, shifting nervously in her chair. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


141 


“ Do you know of any one else ?” he asked entreat- 
ingly, mentally terming her heartless. 

“ No, there might be others — it was very likely,” 
she replied significantly, but she wasn’t acquainted 
with them. 

Lord Charleroy was about to speak again, when the 
sudden appearance of the footman in the doorway 
caused him to look up and put an end to the words 
that he was about to say. 

“ A visitor, your ladyship,” it was announced ; and 
the song which Lady Thoresby had begun, ceased 
abruptly. She wheeled around and rose to her feet 
just as Izma Alvarez crossed the threshold. 

It was a surprise to all present, and a very disagree- 
able one to Lady Maud. 

With the utmost composure, and a pleased smile 
that was quite sincere. Lady Thoresby hurried for- 
ward to meet her visitor, giving her the warmest wel- 
come. She was looking rarely beautiful, even in her 
sober mourning garments. Fearing that she would 
not feel well enough acquainted. Lady Thoresby in- 
troduced her to each one separately, stopping at last 
at Lord Dancourt, who arose and offered her his chair. 

She could not politely refuse it, neither could she 
object when he sat down beside her ; but Archie saw 
that she was not pleased. 

After a moment’s pause, she said to him in a chilling 
tone : 

“I did not know that Lady Thoresby had visitors.” 

“ Have you never been to Floradene before ?” he 
asked, hardly knowing how to reply to her remark. 

“ No ; but I shall come again in future, as I like 
Lady Thoresby and her niece very much. I suppose 


142 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

yon” — giving liim a sort of contemptuous glance — 
“ are related to Lady Maud Dancourt and the rest of 
them at Merivale.” 

“Yes,” he replied, reluctant for the first time in his 
life to admit it ; “I am Lady Maud’s brother.” 

“Ah, her brother!” she exclaimed in surprise. 
And Archie fancied that there was disappointment in 
her tone. 

“ Do you consider me unfortunate ?” he asked, with 
a smile. 

She turned and looked into his frank, handsome 
face. It seemed to win on her. She dropped her eyes 
and flushed slightly. 

“ I should not like to be a Dancourt,” she replied 
with some hesitation. 

“ Yet your mother was a Dancourt,” he reminded 
her. 

“ I am not likely to forget it,” she retorted, flashing 
him a glance that was anything but tender. And as 
soon as she could conveniently do so, she excused her- 
self and made her way to a seat by Valerie Thoresby’s 
side. 

But in spite of her evident dislike for his society, 
Archie could not keep his eyes off her. Although 
Lady Thoresby took the vacant seat beside him, and 
attempted to draw him into an animated conversation, 
his glance would rove now and then to the lovely face 
which in its brightest moments was touched by a pa- 
thetic sadness that caused his heart to go strangely 
out to her. He was sorry when the time came to 
leave. He felt that he could watch Izma Alvarez for- 
ever, and never grow tired of seeing the changing ex- 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


143 


pression of those dark orbs, which were the first that 
had ever made his pulses beat faster. 

Lady Maud, however, was quite ready to go, for the 
day had not been as agreeable to her as it might have 
been. She had succeeded in leading Lord Charleroy 
to believe that whomever it was that cared for him it 
was not her. She had wounded him with her coldness 
and indifference. She had amply had her revenge for 
all her imaginary wrongs ; but she was not so happy 
over it, after all. Her heart was heavy when she 
parted with him ; and he proudly forbore speaking a 
word to her. True, he politely followed her out to the 
steps and bowed to her when she was seated in the 
phaeton ; but even Archie noticed that there was a cold- 
ness between them. 

“What’s up now?” he asked, looking into her trou- 
bled face, as he drove off towards Merivale. “ I’ll wager 
you have been quarrelling with Charleroy ” 

No, she hadn’t. 

“ Then he has been quarrelling with you,” he per- 
sisted. 

This also Lady Maud disputed, striving hard to 
keep back the ready tears which were forcing their 
way to her eyes. 

“ You have offended Charleroy, at least,” said 
Archie. “ I could see that in his face. Women are 
capricious creatures” — bringing the whip down im- 
patiently across the ponies’ backs ; “ they don’t seem 
to think a man has such a thing as a heart. You are 
a fool, Maud Dancourt, if you can’t see that Lord 
Charleroy loves you” — bluntly. 

“ I am not such a fool aS) to think so,” sh^ replied, 

in a choked voice, 


144 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

“ Oh, of course, have your way” — mimicking her ; 
“ I suppose mother has been talking to you — ” 

‘‘ And Lady Bromley,” she added, tears gushing to 
her eyes at last. 

“ Lady Bromley !” he exclaimed in disgust. “ Good 
heavens ! Maud, I thought you had better sense.” 

“ But you do not know what she said. It must 
have been true.” 

“ I wouldn’t believe her on her oath,” Archie vehem- 
ently declared. 

“ It was about Lord Charleroy,” Lady Maud began 
weakly. 

“ Humph ! so I thought. What else ?” 

Lady Maud repeated the very words that Lady 
Bromley had said, looking up at Archie when she had 
finished, for his confirmation. 

“ It is false !” he said indignantly. “ If you listen 
to Lady Bromley, you will fall out with your best 
friend. Besides, there’s a scheme in it, Maud” — 
shrewdly ; “ mark my word, if you don’t hear from the 
Duke of Ellesmere soon.” 

“ Do you really think so ?” she asked thoughtfully. 

“ I am sur6 of it,” he replied. 

Lady Maud relapsed into pensive silence, which 
lasted until they were in sight of home. Then she 
looked up, saying : 

“ So you think, Archie, that Lord Charleroy isn’t so 
bad, after all.” 

“ Of course I do,” he replied. “ Elwood never was 
a bad fellow, although at one time a little wild. If 
you love him, I would stick to him in spite of all the 
gossipers in Christendom ; but if you don’t watch 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


145 


sharp, mother will marry you to some one else in spite 
of yourself.” 

“ Have no fear of that,” she said, smiling through 
her tears, with gratitude, and flinging her arms impul- 
.sively around his neck as he stopped the phaeton and 
assisted her to the ground. “ I am not the sort of 
girl to be forced into a marriage. I shall marry the 
man I love, or no one ; and you shall stand at my wed- 
ding with the girl you like best, Archie dear.” 

He laughed, but the beautiful face of Izma Alvarez, 
with its glowing dark eyes and red lips, so tender to 
others, yet so scornful to him, came- into his mind and 
subdued him. The girl he liked -best would never 
stand with him, he thought, — less than all, at Lady 
Maud Dancourt’s wedding. 

But he said nothing of his thoughts ; and Lady 
Maud hurried to the house to give way to the first 
happy reflections that had come to her for weeks past. 


CHAPTEK XVII. 

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 

Valerie Thoresby and Izma Alvarez became the 
best of friends as time passed, and scarcely a day found 
them apart. If Izma did not come to Eloradene, Va- 
lerie would go to Lane Park, and Lady Thoresby, who 
had grown equally as fond of the young mistress of 
Lane Park as her niece herself, did not in the least 
object to it. Lord Charleroy too, and even Lord 
Thoresby, had taken a fancy to her, and were ever ready 
to welcome her in their midst. 


146 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

Thus it became not uncommon for Lord Dancourt, 
who came to Eloradene as often as ever, to meet Miss 
Alvarez here ; yet he never became better acquainted 
with her, and she was always cold to him, no matter 
how hard he strove to win a smile. 

Lady Maud, however, was as proud as ever, and 
gradually her visits to Eloradene grew farther and 
farther apart. When questioned as to why she came 
less often than had been her wont to do, she replied 
candidly that “ she had no desire to become so well 
acquainted with Izma Alvarez.” 

Lady Thoresby regretted it ; but even if she had 
wished it so, Yalerie could not have been persuaded 
to give up Izma for Lady Maud, although she did not 
dislike the latter. 

Perhaps, too, the little coldness which had arisen 
between Lord Charleroy and Lady Maud had lasted 
longer than she expected, for he did not come to Meri- 
vale, and, though knowing that she was to blame for 
it, she was too proud to seek him, or let him know 
that she cared. 

This did not prevent her from giving vent to her 
feelings, however, when in the seclusion of her own 
chamber ; and more than one night had she fallen 
asleep weeping bitter tears. 

Why had she been so hasty ? She had led Lord 
Charleroy to believe that she did not care for him, and 
perhaps he would never seek her again. What if he 
should go away again and never come back to her ? 
The thought terrified her. 

To the great relief of all concerned. Lady Bromley 
had taken her departure ; but the Countess began to 
potice that Lord Charleroy’s \isits to Merivale had 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 147 

suddenly ceased, and that Lady Maud remained per- 
sistently away from Floradene. She suspected that 
something had gone wrong between them, and was ex- 
ceedingly gratified, but she held her peace, having 
learned that this was the wisest course. 

Archie had once remonstrated with Lady Maud, 
telling her that she had deeply wounded Lord Charle- 
roy ; and that if she ever meant to be friends with him 
again, she should not hold herself so proudly aloof, as 
he was a stubborn sort of fellow, and not likely to in- 
trude his attentions upon her if he believed them un- 
welcome. 

But Lady Maud declared, with an angry flash of her 
eyes, that “ he might go,” and that “ she wasn’t in the 
habit of running after .Lord Charier oy nor any other 
man.” He might come back to her if he chose ; but 
one thing certain, sJie would never coax him nor plead 
with him to forgive her. She was innocent, anyway. 
What had she done ? 

“ Only shown him that you didn’t care a fig for him,” 
Lord Dancourt replied. But after this he offered no 
interference, as he knew it to be useless. He decided 
that it would be best to let them settle it between 
themselves as best they might, as Lady Maud was so 
obstinate she would have her own way in spite of all 
reason. 

But while Lady Maud’s visits to Floradene grew 
less, the regularity of his own became greater, and 
though he would have denied it if any one had rallied 
him on the subject, Izma Alvarez was the magnet that 
drew him thither. He was not easily discouraged, or 
he would have given up all hope of even winning the 
regard of one so bitter against him. 


148 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

But he was hopelessly in love with her ; and though 
no one hinted such a thing to Izma herself, it was no 
secret to those at Floradene. 

Yalerie Thoresby, who was very fond of Archie in 
a friendly sort of way, regretted that Izma should 
treat him so coldly ; and one day when they were alone 
together at Floradene, and seated hand in hand on 
the terrace, beneath the spreading boughs of a shade- 
tree, she said to her : 

“ You are the only person I ever saw, Izma, who 
did not like Archie Dancourt.” 

A strange expression came into the large dark eyes. 

“Am I?” she replied vaguely. “I should think, 
then, that the change would be quite refreshing.” 

“ But he is very sensitive,” persisted Valerie ; “ and 
I think your evident dislike for him pains him very 
much.” 

Izma looked up quickly. 

“Why should it?” she asked with slight surprise. 
“ What could he expect from Izma Alvarez ?” 

“ But he is the best of all the Dancourts, I think. 
You might, at least, be kind to him.” 

“ You must have a fancy for Lord Dancourt, your- 
self,” said Izma, with a smile, as she looked into Va- 
lerie’s earnest face. 

“I like him — that is all,” she confessed. “What 
did you think of him before you knew he was a Dan- 
court ?” 

Izma evidently winced at this pointed question. 

“ I hardly think I had known enough of him to de- 
cide,” she replied. 

“ But didn’t you think him handsome?” 

“ Not particularly so.” 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


149 


Valerie siglied. 

“ I am sorry for this prejudice between yourself 
and the Dancourts,” she said : “ we might enjoy our- 
selves so well together !” 

“ You cannot understand the depth of my hatred 
toward them,” Izma replied, with a passionate gleam 
in her eyes. “ To save their lives, Valerie, I could 
not be friends with them. Never could I wrong the 
dead !” And then she hushed suddenly, as if fearing 
that she had already said too much ; for it was a sub- 
ject to which she seldom referred. 

But after this it was noticeable that she was a little 
more polite, and sometimes slightly agreeable, to Lord 
Dancourt whenever they chanced to meet at Flora- 
dene ; but he realized that he was gaining very slow 
upon her friendship, for never once did she invite him 
to Lane Park. 

It was very disheartening, and Archie would call 
himself all sorts of unflattering names, swearing to- 
day that he would never look upon her face again and 
going to Floradene in the hope of meeting her to- 
morrow. 

The Earl of Southwolde began to hear that the 
young mistress of Lane Park was a regular visitor at 
Floradene, and to notice how often his son went there 
of late, and his suspicions were at length aroused ; yet 
he knew that Valerie Thoresby was still there, and he 
was in doubt as to whom might be the attraction. 

It startled him to think of Lord Dancourt choosing 
unwisely ; for time was swiftly passing, — their doom 
was drawing nigh, — and nothing had yet been done. 

One day when Archie was passing his study, on his 
way to Floradene then. Lord Southwolde decided to 


150 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


settle the question which had been disturbing him, 
and satisfy his mind ; so he called his son into the 
room, and, motioning him to be seated, said to him : 

You seem to go to Floradene very often of late, 
Archie.” 

“ Yes, quite often,” Lord Dancourt assented, look- 
ing somewhat surprised, yet having a slight premoni- 
tion of what was coming. 

“ I hear that Izma • Alvarez frequently visits the 
place, too,” said the Earl, with a glance of inquiry. 

“I have heard as much, myself,” agreed Archie, 
taking a sudden interest in the paintings on the walls 
and longing to whistle. 

“ Have you never met her there, my son?” 

“ Oh yes ” — mildly — “ one is liable to meet her 
there occasionally, you know.” 

The Earl drew his chair up closer. 

Do you like her ?” he asked. 

Archie reddened in spite of himself. 

“ There’s nothing about her to c^Mike,” he replied 
evasively. 

“ But you remember when you first saw her you 
.declared that you had fallen in love with her,” the 
Earl reminded him. 

“ By Jove ! haven’t you forgotten that yet ?” he ex- 
claimed, laughing dryly and mentally cursing himself 
for not keeping his mouth shut. 

“ No, because my interest in it was greater than you 
imagined,” the Earl confessed. “Do you know, 
Archie, it would please me if you should make Izma 
Alvarez your wife ?” 

Lord Dancourt started and looked at his father in 
astonishment. 


IZMA ; OR, SONSHINR AND SHADOW. 


151 


“ You are surprised,” he went on ; “ but I owe the 
girl something for her mother’s wrongs. I would 
gladly have her for the future countess of South- 
wolde.” 

“I suppose Miss Alvarez will have something to 
say . to that herself,” said Lord Dancourt, smiling 
grimly. 

“ Of course — we will allow for that,” admitted the 
Earl, rubbing his hands together and waxing warmer 
in his eagerness. “ But why don’t you propose to 
her ?” 

“ Propose to her the devil !” Lord Dancourt mut- 
tered, forgetting himself for the moment, the proposi- 
tion seemed so absurd. 

“ What is that?” the Earl asked, failing to catch his 
meaning. 

“ Not if my head is level,” Archie substituted. 

“You will not ! ” exclaimed the Earl, disappointedly. 

“ No ; what’s the use ? I am not such a fool as to 
be refused if I can help it,” he replied, rising to his 
feet and making a movement toward the door. “ A 
man can’t always have what he wants, and a woman 
won’t always take what she can get ; so thereby hangs 
the tale of a rather wayward courtship. Izma Al- 
varez will never be your son’s wife, my dear father : 
just make up your mind to that.” 

“ Then why do you go to Eloradene so often, where 
you are likely to meet her ?” the Earl asked, vexed 
and disappointed. 

Lord Dancourt had reached the door, but he 
stopped and studied a moment, after which he replied, 
inelegantly but truthfully, that it was ‘‘ a confounded 
mystery,” 


152 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


CHAPTEE XYIII. 

MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 

The Earl of Southwold was unwilling to release all 
hopes of Izma Alvarez, even after this discouraging 
conversation with his son. Archie might be mistaken, 
he thought. Perhaps, with the belief of her dislike 
for the Dancourts in his mind, he only imagined that 
it would be impossible to win her for his wife. At all 
events, the Earl had undertaken to learn the truth, 
and he was determined to do so before despairing. 

An idea had suddenly come to him. This thing 
had gone on long enough in doubt and darkness, he 
decided. He would go to Lane Park himself and 
learn what they had to expect from Izma Alvarez. 
He said nothing to his wife of this plan ; but the fol- 
lowing morning he ordered the carriage and, without 
delay, was driven to Lane Park. 

It was not without some trepidation, however, that 
he asked for Miss Alvarez when his ring was answered 
at the door. He was shown into the elegantly fur- 
nished drawing-room ; and with a nervous impatience 
that was unusual to him, he sat down and awaited the 
entrance of Lady Adelene Dancourt’s daughter, whom 
he was to see for the first time. He did not know 
what he would say to her. The words that he had 
prepared were now all forgotten ; and when the door 
was pushed open by a small, white hand and Izma 
appeared on the threshold, hesitating for a moment 
and looking in to see whom it was that desired to see 


12MA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. l53 

her, he arose to his feet and stood for a moment 
silent, awed, and embarrassed bj the presence of his 
dead sister’s beautiful child. 

She advanced into the room with a look of slight 
surprise on her exquisite face, the folds of her black 
gown sweeping behind her like a sable pall. 

“ You wished to see me, did you not ?” she asked 
in her silvery, sweet voice. 

“ Yes ; you are Miss Alvarez, I presume,” he said. 

She nodded. 

“I am the Earl of Southwolde,” he continued. 
‘‘ You know me by name if not by sight.” 

She started back from him, and the color died out 
of her cheeks. She threw her head back with a sort 
of defient gesture, and, looking at him unflinchingly, 
said : 

‘‘ What do you want of me. Lord Southwolde ?” 

He offered her a chair, replying : 

‘‘ I have much to say to you. Will you be seated ?” 

‘‘No, thank you, my lord,” she declined coldly. 
“ I can listen to you quite as well standing.” 

This was very little encouragement to begin with, 
but the Earl had by this time recovered his compos- 
ure and quietly seated himself, pretending not to 
notice Izma’s disdain. 

There was a moment’s pause, and then he said : 

“First, I desire to ask you a question. Will you 
answer it ?” 

“That depends entirely upon the nature of it, Lord 
Southwolde ” she replied. 

“ Under any other circumstances, it might be con- 
sidered rude to ask it, but I think you know how we 


154 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

stand to each other. Will you tell me why you came 
to England and settled here, so near Merivale?” 

“ Every one has the right to suit themselves in such 
matters, my lord. It was nothing to me that Merivale 
should be near Lane Park,” she retorted. 

“ But you had a i:eason,” the Earl persisted. 

Izma hesitated. 

“ Yes, if it will satisfy you to know that ; I had a rea- 
son.” 

“ But what I desire to know is, wJiy did you come 
here ?” 

I must decline to answer it. I cannot understand. 
Lord Southwolde, why you have come to Lane Park 
to question me thus. I deem the intrusion unpardon- 
able.” 

‘‘ A man must take care of his own interests, Miss 
Alvarez,” the Earl replied. “I have come to Lane 
Park in behalf of mine.” 

“ Then I beg of you to be done with what you have 
to say as quickly as possible,” she said with slight 
agitation. 

“I will not detain you long,” he promised. “It 
may not seem important to you, but it is to me. Tell 
me — I would like to know — are you fully acquainted 
with your father’s affairs?” He leaned forward and 
looked at her closely. She drew back a little. 

“Yes,” she replied deliberately. “I was my fa- 
ther’s only child and sole companion ; and he kept 
no secrets from me — not even his business affairs.” 

“ Ah !” said the Earl, with a long-drawn breath that 
seemed painful to him. “ I suppose, then — it is quite 
probable that — ah — you know of the loan on South- 
wolde that was made through Benzo Alvarez’s agents?” 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


155 


“ I do, Lord Southwolde ; and it was my father’s 
dying regret that he had in any way assisted you.” 

The Earl laughed harshly. 

‘‘ The money was a curse to me !” he exclaimed, 
running his fingers through his hair. “ Eenzo Al- 
varez might have known this and died in peace. If 
you knew a man to be trembling on the brink of rnin, 
and the disgrace of his downfall was more bitter than 
death to him, would you have any mercy on him? 
This is what I have come to you to learn, Izma 
Alvarez.” 

“ In some cases — yes ; in others — no,” she replied 
steadily. 

The Earl drew another long breath and turned 
nervously in his chair. 

“ I might as well be candid with you,” he said ; “ for 
the truth cannot much longer be hidden. The mort- 
gage on Southwolde will soon be due, and I cannot 
meet it. I have lost — I am ruined — and my only 
course now is to throw myself upon your mercy. 
What will you do ?” 

The admission shocked her. She fell back pale 
and silent, receding step by step until she reached the 
sofa, where, unconsciously, she dropped down and sat 
there staring at him and making no reply. 

“What will you do. Miss Alvarez?” he repeated 
impatiently. 

Still no reply. 

He waited. 

Suddenly her lips moved, and she broke into a dis- 
cordant laugh. 

“Mercy!” she exclaimed derisively, passing her 


156 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

hand across her forehead. Are you mad, Lord 
Southwolde, that you speak to me of mercy ?” 

“ But if you will only wait with me,” he said beseech- 
ingly. ‘‘ If you will only bear with me a while, I may 
be able to save myself. I promise that you shall lose 
nothing.” 

She rose to her feet again ; her black eyes were burn- 
ing brightly. 

“ No !” she replied, her hands clenched tightly. ‘‘ I 
will not wait with you. The very day that the mort- 
gage is due, it shall be closed. Let come what may, I 
will keep my promise to tlie dead. At my father’s dy- 
ing bedside, I swore to avenge my mother’s wrongs — 
I gave him my word that I would come to England and 
see that the loan upon Southwolde was not an hour 
overdue ; and I mean that the oath shall be kept, my 
lord. And if the money is not forthcoming* at the 
proper time, you, I think, will be the next of the Dan- 
courts to be banished from Merivale.” 

Lord Southwolde looked at her a moment, his hands 
tightly interlocked. Then he said slowlj^ : 

“So this is why you came to Lane Park, is it?” 

“ Yes,” she acknowledged, “ since the truth must be 
wrung from my lips. I came by a promise to the 
dead. Oh, my father!” she cried with a sudden gush 
of passion, as she raised her eyes to heaven and up- 
lifted both her hands. “ Even now I can see him as 
he lay upon his death-bed, his poor face pale and 
pinched, his wasted hand clasped closely about mine. 
I can see the ghostly candle-light and the sickly rays 
of the half-grown moon as they mingled across the 
couch ; and I can hear his failing voice, striking to my 
anguished heart like a knife-blade : 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


157 


“ ‘ Izma, darling, I am going — going fast. Fatlier is 
dying, my child. He will soon be with your angel 
mother, and my precious one will be all alone, except 
for Nurse Llorenta ; but even in death, my spirit shall 
watch over you. Izma, promise me one thing. You 
know that the money with which I unconsciously as- 
sisted the Earl of Southwolde has imbittered the last 
days of my life. Oh, that a shilling of mine should 
ever have been loaned to a Southwolde ! Promise me, 
Izma, that you will go to England and close that mort- 
gage on the very day that it expires. I will not rest 
in my grave until it is done. You are young — there 
are many years of both sunshine and shadows before 
you ; but swear that you will avenge your mother’s 
wrongs and mine. The old Earl that broke poor Ade- 
lene’s sensitive heart is dead, but his son and his chil- 
dren are still alive. They are all Dancourts — all ene- 
mies to your angel mother and me ; and my restless 
spirit will never know peace until they have atoned 
with their very heart’s blood for the death of my 
wife.’ 

“ So with those words forever ringing in my ears. 
Lord Southwolde, do you think I could so far forget 
myself as to grant you a single day of mercy?” she 
asked, taking several excited turns up and down the 
room. “ No, no ! you must either be mad or think me 
a fool.” 

The Earl shuddered. His face had grown very white. 
He rose to his feet ; and though Izma drew back from 
him, he went up to her and imprisoned both her hands 
in his own. 

“ Stop a moment,” he beseeched, looking down into 
her flushed, agitated face. “ I will prove to you that 


158 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

the Dancourts are no enemy to you. Listen ! I have 
a son, the noblest boy on earth — you have seen him — 
he is the future Earl of Southwolde, and the pride of 
my life. No man ever loved his son better, or had 
higher views for him ; yet gladly, willingly would I see 
you his wife.” 

Izma gave a gasp of astonishment and shrank away 
from the Earl, all the color dying out of her face. She 
looked up at him with a strange, speechless expression 
in her eyes, that quickly came and was quickly gone. 

“I realize that your mother was wronged, Izma,” he 
continued with real kindness ; “ and thus would I atone 
by making her daughter Countess of Southwolde.” 

Izma, recovering her self-control, snatched her 
hands away from him and drew herself up proudly. 

“ This is an insult, Lord Southwolde !” she indig- 
nantly exclaimed. “ You would have your son make 
me his wife in order to save your estate ; and he, nohle 
gentleman, would perhaps lend himself to the scheme ; 
but you would be greatly deceiving yourself to imagine 
that the title of ‘ countess ’ would have for Izma Alva- 
rez the least charm. I would rather be a peasant girl 
than to be called by the name of Dancourt, my lord.” 

“ But you are mistaken about Archie,” the Earl re- 
plied quickly. “ He does not even know of the mort- 
gage on Southwolde.” 

Izma smiled disbelievingly. 

‘‘ That is a matter of indifference to me,” she said 
contemptuously. “ Your desire to see me Lady Dan- 
court is more absurd than your hope that I would 
await your pleasure to redeem Southwolde. You can 
expect nothing from me, my lord, — nothing, nothing.” 

“ And this is your final decision,” said the Earl, in a 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


159 


dull, hopeless voice. “ You are very cruel and merci- 
less for one so young.” 

She turned away; she could not look him in the 
eyes. He could not know how her own heart was 
bleeding even then. 

“ Perhaps I inherit it through the blood of the Dan- 
courts,” she replied coldly. 

The Earl shook his head. 

“ God help me !” he murmured. And then he turned 
his weary eyes toward the door. 

“ I suppose nothing will change you,” he said hope- 
lessly. 

“No,” she replied ; “ I will keep my oath.” 

The Earl turned away. 

“ Will you be merciful enough to keep my misfortune 
from the world until the time for exposure?” he asked, 
looking back. 

“ I will,” she promised, to his surprise. “ You need 
not fear. Lord Southwolde, that I shall take a mean 
advantage of you.” 

“ Thank you,” said the Earl, simply ; and his face 
looked so piteously haggard as he went out, that Izma 
fell upon her knees with a remorseful cry. As she 
looked through the window, and watched the carriage 
as it bore Lord Southwolde away, a dark cloud sud- 
denly obscured the sun, and, like a hideous shadow, 
seemed to settle down over Lane Park and follow the 
vehicle on its way. A dim foreboding of the gloomy 
future must have come to Izma, for she threw herself 
face downward on the pile of velvet carpet, crying in a 
husky voice : 

“ Father, father ! why did you force me to take that 
oath ? Heaven pity me ! Even now I can hear the 
drip, drip of the blood of human hearts!” 


160 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

A CRUEL STAB. 

If Ladj Maud Dancourt imagined that Lord Charle- 
roy was indifferent to or happy over the little cold- 
ness which had arisen between them, she had never 
been more mistaken in her life. If he did not give 
evidence of being the most miserable man in England, 
it was because his pride and stubbornness withheld 
him from making an open show of his feelings. If he 
had acknowledged the truth, he would have said that 
Lady Maud had never seemed dearer to him than now, 
and that the belief of her indifference to him had cost 
him more than one sleepless, unhappy night. He 
loved her — there was not a doubt of it in his mind ; 
yet, when he had parted from her that day at Flora- 
dene, he had thought that he must give her up forever. 
There was no use in following her about and making a 
fool of himself ; for if he should ask her to become his 
wife, she would only refuse him and laugh at him. He 
had presumed too far, perhaps, already ; he would stay 
aAvay from Merivale and let her see that he could live 
without her, and that she could not make a mock of his 
love. 

This was his first decision, and he did indeed re- 
main true to it several days, but he became more and 
more restless and unhappy, and the thought of living 
forever without Lady Maud became anything but 
pleasant. It was much harder than he imagined, and 
each day he looked and hoped for some little word 


12MA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 161 

from her whom he loved, which would be an excuse to 
go back to her. He had held out so well now, and 
taken no step toward a reconciliation, that he rather 
dreaded to go to Merivale without the assurance of 
Lady Maud’s readiness to forgive. And, besides, he 
had done nothing. She had only shown him that she 
did not care for him ; and thinking to please her, he had 
remained away. 

But in spite of his reasoning, something in his heart 
told him that if he went to Merivale he would not be 
unwelcome ; and his longing to see Lady Maud again 
grew more intense each day. 

The very shadow of an excuse was enough for him ; 
and when Lady Thoresby, perhaps suspecting the state 
of his heart, came to him one morning and asked him 
to go to Merivale for her memorandum, which she had 
forgotten and left there on her last visit, he could have 
joyfully embraced her. 

“ I will go,” he said readily. And in less than a 
half-hour his horse had been saddled and he was on 
his way, his heart beating with love and hope. All his 
doubts were now forgotten. He was going to Lady 
Maud again, no matter how cold she had been to him ; 
and he felt sure that her proud lips would smile upon 
him and her deep blue eyes would droop as she gave 
him her soft, white hand. 

One thing, too, he had resolved upon : He would 
risk his fate that very morning ; he would tell Lady 
Maud that he loved her, — although she must surely 
know this, — and he would ask her to become his wife. 

How he longed to see her fair face flushed and her 
eyes fllled with love for him. 

When he reached Merivale, he looked around him. 


162 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


He thought perchance he would see Lady Maud, but 
she was nowhere in sight. He continued his way to 
the house, and was shown into the drawing-room, but 
when he inquired for Lady Maud, he was informed, to 
his great disappointment, that she was not there. She 
had ridden off toward Merivale woods with Lord Dan- 
court, more than an hour ago. 

Lord Charleroy was about to turn away when, re- 
membering the mission upon which he had come, he 
asked for Lady Southwolde. She was at home, the 
servant said ; and bidding him to say to her that it was 
the master of Floradene who had come for Lady 
Thoresby’s memorandum. Lord Charleroy settled him- 
self down in a chair near the grate and gave vent to his 
disappointment by a groan, which caused the man who 
admitted him to look back over his shoulder in sur- 
prise. 

Lady Southwolde was but a few moments in making 
her appearance. She was looking very serene, and the 
richly embroidered morning-gown she wore was quite 
becoming ; but even though she smiled upon him with 
unusual sweetness, and greeted him with pleasant 
words. Lord Charleroy somehow felt uneasy. 

“Here is the memorandum, Elwood,” she said, ex- 
tending to him the little morrocco-bound book which 
she held in her hand. “ I would have sent it to Lady 
Thoresby, but I myself had forgotten it. Pray ask 
her to pardon me. Lovely day, is it not? Won’t you 
be seated awhile ?” 

“I — I had come to see Lady Maud,” stammered 
Lord Charleroy, but resuming his chair. “ I am sorry 
that I should have missed her.” 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


163 


“ Yes,” said the Countess, seating herself opposite 
him ; “but I am sure she did not expect you.” 

“ Perhaps not,” he assented, flushing slightly. 

And then there was a pause in which Lord Charleroy 
grew very thoughtful. The Countess looked at him 
curiously. He seemed to have forgotten her presence. 

“Is Miss Thoresby well?” she asked, desirous of 
breaking the silence. 

“ Quite well, thank you,” he replied, gazing absently 
into the highly polished grate. 

“Maud has been expecting a visit from her, I think,” 
she continued ; “ but perhaps she has forgotten us — I 
hear she has grown so fond of the mistress of Lane 
Park.” 

Lord Charleroy looked up into her face. 

“She has not forgotten you, I am sure,” he said; 
“ but maybe it is because Lady Maud never comes to 
Floradene.” 

“ Why, I imagined Maud went to Floradene quite 
often,” replied the Countess, in pretended surprise, 
telling the fib unblushingly. 

“ She does not, your ladyship, I assure you.” 

“ Well, well, Maud has queer ways, Elwood. When 
you have known her long enough, you will learn that.” 

“ She is the most charming girl I have ever met,” 
said Lord Charleroy, calmly. “ Lady Southwold, you 
must surely know that I love your daughter.” 

“Impossible !” exclaimed the Countess, looking at 
him in astonishment. 

“Why impossible?” he asked earnestly. “I would 
consider her a blessing to any man ; and you have 
surely not forgotten, my lady, that the Earl gave her 
to me in her infancy. I confess that I am unworthy 


164 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

of her ; but I have striven very hard to be a better man 
for her sake. I promise you, Lady Southwolde, that 
if I win her for my wife, she shall never be unhappy. 
I will shield her from the wintry winds as I would a 
tender hot-house flower.” 

He looked so eager and handsome, his dark eyes 
were so full of frankness and the passion of the first 
love of his life, that if the Countess had ever admired 
him, it was surely then ; but her mind was too intent 
upon a deeper purpose, to allow her admiration to get 
the better of her reason. 

“ I am truly astonished. Lord Charleroy,” she said. 
“ Although I have a dim recollection of some sort of 
a contract^ made between your father and my husband 
many years ago, I never dreamed that you would ex- 
pect Maud to fulfil it ; for during all the time that you 
were absent from Floradene, you made no mention of 
it, and I was convinced that you either ignored or had 
forgotten it.” 

“ I was not worthy to speak of it then,” he con- 
fessed ; “ but if I had forgotten the contract. Lady 
Southwolde, I could not have forgotten Lady Maud. 
I will not ask her to become my wife because the Earl 
gave her to me, but because I love her.” 

“ Have you spoken to Maud ?” she asked. 

“ I came here to-day to offer myself,” he replied ; 
“ yet she knows already that I love her.” 

Lady Southwolde was not so certain of the latter, 
and she breathed an inward sigh of relief. 

“I believe. Lord Charleroy, that you are mistaken,” 
she said. “ I think my daughter will be very much 
surprised if you ask her to marry you,” 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


165 


He looked up quickly. There was something in 
Lady Southwolde’s face that alarmed him. 

“ I cannot be mistaken,” he declared ; “ for Lady 
Maud has given me reason to believe that she was not 
indifferent to me. Her eyes, if not her words, have 
told me so.” 

The Countess smiled incredulously and shook her 
head. 

“ That is very unlike Maud,” she said. “ I have 
never known her to encourage a suitor for the simple 
gratification of casting him off. I repeat. Lord Charle- 
roy, that you must be mistaken. My daughter does 
not know that you love her.” 

“ Then I will tell her so, in order that she may have 
no doubt of it,” he replied rather warmly. 

“I would not if I were you,” advised the Countess. 
“ It would be very unwise of you.” 

“ What do you mean, Lady Southwolde ?” he asked 
fearfully. 

“ I am sorry to pain you. Lord Charleroy — ” began 
the Countess, hesitating and paling in spite of herself 
over the falsehood that she was about to utter. 

“Go on,” he bade impatiently, his heart beating 
with strangling throbs. 

“ You must not blame Maud,” she continued ; “ for 
we have never made her understand that the contract 
between the Earl and your father was binding. Al- 
though she has learned of it, she has never thought of 
it, I think, in a serious light ; so it was not strange 
that, when we took her to London last season, she 
should lose her heart before she returned to Merivale. 
You came back to FJoradene too late, Lord Charleroy. 


106 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

When Maud marries, the Duke of Ellesmere will be 
her choice.” 

It would have been far more merciful to have thrust 
a dagger to Lord Charleroy’s heart. Pale, silent, and 
hopeless, he listened to the Countess as she drained 
from his veins the very life-blood. A chill seemed to 
pass over him. He shivered, and dragged himself to 
his feet. He looked at Lady Southwolde with such 
an expression of despair that for a moment she was 
tempted to retract the words which had scorched hei 
lips to utter. 

“ I am sorry that I have come too late,” he said in 
a husky voice. “ It was very good of you. Lady 
Southwolde, |to bring me to my senses” — with a mirth- 
less laugh. “ Of course — I should have known it — 
Lady Maud could not marry a fellow like me. I hope 
she’ll be happy as the Duchess of Ellesmere — I do, 
upon my word. She deserves it. I was very foolish 
to presume upon her friendship ; but she will -soon for- 
get it. Yes, yes, I hope she’ll be happy ; but she 
will of course as — the Duchess of Ellesmere.” And 
again he laughed that mirthless laugh, which made the 
Countess shudder. 

She offered her hand as he went out, but he did not 
see it. She watched him as he mounted his horse 
outside and rode madly away, his face pale as death, 
and her cruel heart smote her. 

“ I had to do it,” she said in a husky whisper. “I 
had to part them, or lose Southwolde ; and Maud will 
soon forget him. It was now or never. She will 
thank me for it by and by, when she is the honored 
and admired Duchess of Ellesmere,” 


iZiMA ; OR, SUTSiSHUSTE AND SHADOW. 


167 


CHAPTEE XX. 

PARTED. 

For several days the falsehood with which she had 
stabbed Lord Charleroy’s heart troubled Lady South- 
wolde greatly. She saw the heaviness of Lady Maud’s 
eyes and noted the dark circles beneath them, and she 
knew that it was the traces of bitter tears and an un- 
happy heart, which ached with wounded pride and 
passionate love for the man from whom she had 
parted her ; but though by a single word she could 
have united them, the knowledge of their desperate 
situation held her back. 

The Earl had afterwards told her of his visit to 
Lane Park and the result of it ; and she knew that her 
only hope lay in Lady Maud’s marriage with the Duke 
of Ellesmere or some other gentleman of equal wealth. 
It was too late now. If she spoke out and told Lady 
Maud that Lord Charleroy had been to Merivale and 
asked her hand in marriage, Southwolde was surely 
lost. Anything was better than ruin and disgrace, the 
Countess argued ; and though Lady Maud was un- 
happy at first, it was better to give up her love than 
to suffer the loss of their grand old estate. She had 
promised to help the Earl in his great trouble, and she 
would do it at any cost. 

She was very tender to Lady Maud, for her con- 
science shamed her ; and when the tears would start to 
the sad eyes, she would turn away, knowing in her 
heart that it was she who had robbed those beautiful 


1 f]8 IZMA ; OH, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

orbs of tlieir lustre. It was bard to see the pain of 
the child she loved ; yet she believed that it was best 
so, and she could not undo it if she would. 

A few days hence she had ceased to trouble, and 
and she felt that Providence itself was working into 
her hands. 

One morning a letter came to her from Lady Brom- 
ley, saying that her nephew, the Duke of Ellesmere, 
was coming to Merivale the following week. 

“ He is as much in love with Lady Maud as ever, 
my dear Lady Southwolde,” Lady Bromley wrote. 
“ You should have seen the look of joy that flashed in 
his eyes when I hinted to him that there was hope for 
him. I am convinced that he is going to Merivale for 
no other reason than to see your daughter and renew 
his proposal ; and it is my sincere hope that there 
will be wedding-bells at the little Gothic church of 
Southwolde before the Christmas chimes.” 

The Countess felt that her joy was too great. She 
took the letter to the Earl ; and when he had read it, 
she saw tears of gratitude in his eyes. 

“ If Maud could only be persuaded to accept him,” 
lie said ; “ but what will she do about Lord Charleroy ? 
Shall we tell him the truth, and say to him that he 
must give her up to another ?” 

The Countess had never told the falsehood by which 
she had parted Lord Charleroy from Lady Maud, even 
to her husband. She was ashamed to do so. She 
had said nothing of how things stood between them 
until now. 

“ Why, do you not notice, Kobert, that Lord Charle- 
roy never comes to Merivale now? He and Maud 
have quarrelled. There is nothing between them. It 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


169 


looks as if Elwood never desired her for his wife at 
all. Did he ever speak to yon about it ?” 

“ He did not,” the Earl replied, perplexed over it 
for the first time. 

“ Then nothing stands in the way of Maud accept- 
ing the Duke if he proposes to her.*'’ 

“ But do you think she will do it?” asked the Earl, 
doubtfully. 

“ She must ! If she does not, we are ruined.” 

“ I hope she will ; I pray she will, Lura,” said Lord 
South wolde, earnestly. “ I will never cease to thank 
heaven for it. Everything has failed us ; this is the 
last hope.” 

“It shall not fail us — I swear it!” declared the 
Countess, firmly, as she went out in search of Lady 
Maud. 

This was her worst task. She shrank from telling 
Lady Maud that the Duke of Ellesmere was coming 
to Merivale, for she felt sure that her daughter would 
suspect her own hand in it ; but she had accomplished 
too much now to turn back. She found her in the 
library, and, going up to her, pinched her pale cheek 
playfully, saying : 

“ My dear, there is quite a surprise in store for you. 
Can you imagine who is coming to Merivale?” 

Lady Maud looked up languidly. 

“ No,” she replied indifferently. “ I cannot imagine 
— unless” — with a sudden displeased look — “Lady 
Bromley intends to return.” 

“Not Lady Bromley, but some one related to her,” 
said the Countess, smiling. 

Lady Maud glanced up in alarm. 

“ It can’t be possible that — ” 


170 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

“ There ! I am sure you have it,” interrupted the 
Countess, with a forced laugh. ‘‘You are going to say 
the Duke of Ellesmere.” 

Lady Maud rose to her feet with a look of indigna- 
tion on her face. 

“ And why, will ‘you tell me, is the Duke of Elles- 
mere coming here ?” 

“I don’t think he has said,” the Countess replied. 
“ I received the information through a letter from 
Lady Bromley. He will be at Merivale next week.” 

“ I certainly gave him credit for more sense,” said 
Lady Maud, “ yet ” — clinching her lips to keep back 
the angry words — “ I might have known it, when he is 
a nephew to Lady Bromley. Whom, pray, is he com- 
ing to see?” 

“You, of course, my dear. Whom else should he 
desire to see. He is a lover after my own heart, Maud, 
I like to see a man who is not faint-hearted.” 

“ Then I sincerely wish, mother, that some one who 
is as much in love with him as you are, would take 
him off my hands,” said Lady Maud, with a mirthless 
laugh. “I despise the Duke of Ellesmere.” 

“ Nonsense. Any other girl who was so greatly be- 
loved by such a noble gentleman would feel flattered.” 

“ Then I am glad that I am not ‘^any other girl.’ ” 

“ You are simply unreasonable. If the Duke 
should propose to you again and you were to refuse 
him, it would be the most foolish step of your life.” 

“ I hardly think he will be so mad as to propose to 
me again, but if he does” — with an an ominous look— 
“ he will have to go farther than he did the first time 
to recover from the sting of my refusal.” 

“I dare say you will come to your senses,” said 


12MA ; Ofe, SUNSttlNK AND SHADOW. 171 

Lady Southwolde ; “ but if you should mistreat the 
Duke of Ellesmere, you would greatly displease us 
all.” 

“ I hate him !” exclaimed Lady Maud, passionately. 

“ Yet you would give your heart to a man far less 
noble. It is time that such nonsense should come to 
an end, Maud. I have been more or less patient with 
you until now ; but you must give up all thoughts of 
Lord Charleroy. Has he not shown you that he cares 
nothing for you ?” 

Tears that even her pride could not suppress started 
to Lady Maud’s eyes. 

“I do not know,” she replied tremulously. “I 
wounded him and led him to believe that I did not 
care for him.” 

“ Bah ! If he loved you as he ought, he would allow 
no trifle to separate you.” 

“ But he is very proud, mother,” a large tear splash- 
ing down her cheek. 

“ Compare his conduct with the Duke’s,” said the 
Countess. “You refused the latter in plain words; 
and he is coming back to you.” 

“ Lord Charleroy is a sensible man,” Lady Maud 
retorted. 

“ Have your way ; but I am satisfied that the time 
will come when you will see that you are mistaken.” 
And feeling assured of her words, the Countess was 
not discouraged. 

A short time later. Lord Dancourt chanced to enter 
the room, and found Lady Maud alone, weeping and 
sobbing as if her heart would break. He went up to 
her and put his arms around her in his impulsive way. 

“Maud, Maud! what on earth is the matter?” he 


liiMA; on, SUNSHINK AKD SHADOW. 

asked in astonishment. Tell me who has done this, 
and, by all the gods, there shall be a reckoning be- 
tween us !” 

“ The Duke — the Duke,” was all that Lady Maud 
could sob out. 

“ The Duke ! By George ! I will be compelled to 
fight a duel with that man yet. It is only one of 
mother’s freaks, my dear. I wouldn’t mind her.” , 

“But he is coming — actually coming — to Merivale,” 
Lady Maud managed to articulate. 

“Oh! so that’s the way the wind blows, is it?” ex- 
claimed Archie, in surprise. “Coming to Merivale!” 

“ He is — Lady Bromley wrote it ; and he’ll be here 
next week, and — and — ” 

“ Mother wants to have a wedding ere long — is that 
it?” Archie finished. 

“ Yes, and everybody is against me, and — and I am 
wretched ; that’s all !” 

“ I wouldn’t be if I were you.” 

“ Then what would you do ?” asked Lady Maud, 
desperately. 

“ I would make up with Lord Charleroy, and marry 
him on short notice — that’s what. I would play the 
trump card, and foil every man and woman that was 
against me.” 

“O Archie, how can I?” exclaimed Lady Maud, in 
dismay. 

“ Don’t know, I’m sure,” he replied, diving his hands 
down into his pockets and looking thoughtful ; “ but if 
I were a woman, I bet I would manage it.” 

“ I can’t do it,” declared Lady Maud, with a dry sob. 
“ It is useless to talk to me. Lord Charleroy does not 
care for me, or he would have come back to me of his 


izma ; oii, sunshine and shadow. 173 

own accord. If jc\i loved a girl, Archie, would you 
allow a trifle to separate you ?” 

He couldn’t say that he would. 

“Then what have you to say of Lord Charleroy?” 
she asked. 

Archie hesitated and pulled at his moustache vigor- 
ously. 

“ It looks rather dark,” he admitted. “I begin to 
believe, Maud, that he is a fraud.” 

“Do you really think so?” she asked, disappointed 
in spite of her efforts to convince him. 

“ Yes, I do ; and I believe you wereHght. I wouldn’t 
turn on my heel to win him back. He isn’t worthy of 
your affections.” 

This was indeed worse than if Archie had not agreed 
with her ; but even with every one against Lord Char- 
leroy, it was not enough to destroy the love in her 
heart. It was impossible for her to give uj) all thoughts 
of him. 

“ The Duke of Ellesmere might come,” she said to 
herself ; “ but it would avail him nothing. She would 
remain single so long as Lord Charleroy was single, 
and she would defy any one to marry her to man she 
did not love.” 

A few days later. Lady Thoresby came over to Meri- 
vale and said that Lord Charleroy was quite ill. The 
Countess was very uneasy during her visit, for fear 
that she would drop some word by which the fact that 
Lord Charleroy had been to Merivale would be be- 
trayed to Lady Maud ; but, fortunately for herself. 
Lady Thoresby did not do so. 

The Countess watched her daughter very closely 
during her stay ; but not by the movement of a single 


174 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

muscle did Lady Maud show that Lord Charleroy’s 
health was anything but a subject of indifference to 
her. The Countess was very much pleased at her be^ 
havior, and began to think that already she was learn- 
ing the lesson of forgetfulness. She did not know how 
afterwards Lady Maud hurried out in the dower gar- 
den where her lover’s interrupted wooing had begun, 
and watered the roses with her tears. 

It was a bitter struggle between pride and love, but 
in the end love conquered. As Lad}^ Maud sat there 
among the dowers. Lord Charleroy’s handsome face, 
pale and reproachful, seemed to rise up before her, 
and a thought, which a week before she would have 
put from her with proud contempt, came to her mind. 

Lord Charleroy was ill, and if he should die he 
would never know that she was sorry. Could she not 
tell him through a bouquet of fragrant blossoms, that 
she acknowledged her fault and regretted that she had 
wounded him? She could not ssbj it in words, but 
surely he would understand ; and if he had ever cared 
for her, he would forgive her. She remembered that 
he had admired the flowers she had sent Valerie, and 
it would be a test of his love to see what he would say 
in reply to them. 

She would let no one know, for they were all against 
her ; she would gather them with her own hands and 
send them secretly to Floradene. 

Oh, what a change was this from the proud girl of a 
short while ago, who had declared that Lord Charleroy 
might go — she would never coax him back to her. But 
love had done it all. And love brought the light back to 
her eyes and made her heart beat with hope when she 
had gathered the flowers and stole back to her room, 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 175 

where she wrote upon a s^ip of paper her own initials, 
“M. D. and burying it down in the heart of the 
bouquet, she ran for her maid and bade her to give 
the flowers to John, with her command that he was to 
carry them to Floradene at once. “And mind that 
you say nothing of this, Clotilde,” she said; “and if 
John should be missed while he is gone, say that I 
have sent him on an errand, and I will make the excuse 
for him.” 

Clotilde nodded her assent and tripped out of the 
room and down the stairs ; but no sooner had she 
reached the lower hall, than out came the Countess of 
Southwolde from the door of the library, meeting her 
face to face. It was unexpected to both of them. The 
maid looked frightened, and Lady Southwolde gave 
vent to an expression of surprise. 

“ Clotilde, where are you going with those flowers ?” 
the latter asked. 

If the girl had been quick-witted, she might have 
framed a reply that would not have betrayed Lady 
Maud ; but she was naturally afraid of Lady South- 
wolde, and nothing but the plain truth at that moment 
appeared to her. 

“ They — they are to be sent to Floradene, my lady,” 
she stammered. 

Lady Southwolde’s suspicions were at once aroused. 

“Are you going to take them yourself?” she asked. 

“ I am to give them to John,” she replied, seeing that 
concealment now was unneccessaiy. 

“ They are from Lady Maud, I presume ?” 

“ I — I suppose so, my lady.” 

“ Then give them to me,” said the Countess, coming 
forward and taking the flowers from the trembling girl’s 


176 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


hands. “ You may go to my room and assist my maid 
in hanging up the dresses that I tore down this morn- 
ing ; and I will deliver the bouquet to John.” 

Clotilde could not refuse to obey ; and thus Avhile 
Lady Maud, in her own room, w^-s dreaming of her 
lover’s happy pardon, the silent message of peace had 
fallen into relentless hands, and the harmless blossoms, 
which would indeed have made an aching heart glad, 
were slowly burning to ashes in the library grate. The 
Countess, with determined eyes, stood over the blaze 
and watched the last leaf as it melted away, saying 
over and over : 

“ It is best. We must save Southwolde at any cost.” 

Ah, j)ity it was that^ it should be at the cost of two 
loving hearts ; for this day Lord Charleroy and Lady 
Maud were surely parted. 


CHAPTEK XXI. 

THE BITTEE DEEGS. 

Lady Thoeesby began to grow tired of Floradene, 
and business affairs were calling her husband home, 
but she could not leave until Lord Charleroy was 
better ; and Yalerie declared that she would not return 
to Scotland unless Izma Alvarez went with her. So 
with these obstacles, she could not name any definite 
time for her departure ; yet she had promised her lord 
that her stay at Floradene should come to an end a 
few weeks hence. 

Tjord Charleroy had alarmed her by expressing his 


ISMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


177 


intention of going abroad again as soon as lie was able ; 
and she had refused to even listen to it, telling him 
that she would follow' him thither, rather than see him 
go alone and perhaps fall into the ways of his old life. 

“ Yon shall not go, Elwood !” she declared. I know 
the truth — you cannot hide it from me — you have quar- 
relled with Maud Dancourt, and desire to run away 
again and spoil your own life ; but I will see to it that 
you do not. I will wait until you are well ; and you 
shall go with us to Scotland, but never back to your 
old life — never!” 

Lord Charleroy only turned wearily on his pillow. 

“ Anywhere — to Scotland, if you like,” he said. ‘‘ I 
am tired of Floradene.” 

Lady Thoresby looked at him half pityingly. He 
seemed broken down in both body and mind ; but she 
was determined not to show her sympathy. 

“ I suppose, then, you have entirely given up the 
idea of marrying Lady Maud,” she said reprovingly. 

‘‘Yes, I have entirely given it up,” he replied, with 
a bitter laugh. 

“ Kegardless of father’s dying wish,” she added. 

“I wish you wouldn’t bother me, Rita,” he said, 
with all the petulance of an invalid. “ If Lady Maud 
chooses to marry some one else, we have no right to 
question her ; and 'if I choose to leave England and 
wander abroad, there’s no one to be responsible for it 
but me.” 

“We will see about that, my lord,” she replied, 
with a good-humored laugh. “ I am going to take you 
under my charge ; just see if I don’t. I’ve neglected 
you too much already.” 

But she could not help feeling incensed toward Lady 


178 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

Maud, whom, she felt quite sure, was responsible for 
her brother’s unhappiuess. She believed too that his 
mind, more than any bodily alfection, had caused his 
illness. Nothing would have given her greater pleasure 
than to have invited both Lady Maud and Lord Dan- 
court to accompany them back to Castle Lorna, their 
beautiful Scottish .home ; but under existing circum- 
stances it would be folly to do so. Neither of them, 
of course, would go. She was equally as anxious, for 
Valerie’s sake, to persuade Izma Alvarez to spend a 
while with her ; and she went to Lane Park herself and 
extended the invitation. 

Izma declared at first that it would be quite impos- 
sible — she could not leave England just now ; but 
Valerie, who was present, became actually provoked 
at her refusal, and replied that it was because she did 
not want to go. She was all alone in that great big 
house, she said, and it was all nonsense saying that 
she could not leave it for awhile — Nurse Lorenta would 
take the best of care of it ; and if she didn’t come, she 
would never be forgiven. So Izma was almost forced 
to give hen consent, and she was not sorry for it when 
she saw how glad it made Valerie. After all, she 
would not mind a rest away from Lane Park. 

In the mean time, Lady Maud, who was looking each 
day for some message from Lord Charleroy, and griev- 
ing her very heart away because it did not come, knew 
nothing of Lady Thoresby’s plans until the latter came 
to Merivale, herself, and unfolded them. 

Lord Charleroy had improved • rapidly for the last 
few days, and it had been decided that they should 
leave Eloradene at once. 

Never dreaming what a cruel blow she was dealing 


IZMA ; OR, SUJ^SHlNH AND SHADOW. 11^9 

Lady Mand, Lady Tlioresby felt a sort of pleasure in 
telling her that Lord Charleroy was going with them 
to Castle Lorna, and did not know when he would 
ever come back. She might have seen the pallor that 
overspread the fair, proud face, if the Countess had 
not spoken and quickly drawn her attention away. 

Oh, how the words sank into her heart ! 

Going away, perhaps never to come back, and he 
had sent her no message ; he had treated her poor 
flowers with contempt. How terribly she had been 
mistaken ! He did not wish to be friends with her ; 
he had never cared for her. It was the same as if he 
had told her so in words. 

For a moment the room seemed to spin round and 
round, Lady Thoresby’s and the Countess’s voices 
sounded far away, and the very air seemed to be stif- 
ling her ; then, by a great effort, she railed and looked 
up, pale but calm. 

Lady Thoresby had turned her eyes again in her 
direction ; and feeling that she was expected to speak, 
she said in a quiet tone : 

“ I am sorry that you are going home, Lady Thores- 
by. We shall miss you.” 

“ I had hoped to take you with me to Castle Lorna, 
Maud,” she replied, somehow feeling less angry with 
her than she had thought to be. 

But the Countess spoke up quickly. 

“ She could not have gone, Bita, if she had made 
arrangements to do so,” she said. 

Lady Thoresby looked puzzled. 

“ Why not ?” she asked. 

‘‘Because she is expecting the Duke of Ellesmere 
at Merivale.” 


ISO IZMA ; OK, HtJNSHlNE AND SHADOW. 

Ah!” said Lady Thoresby, beginning to compre- 
hend the whole situation. “ Her lover — eh ?” 

“You are mistaken,” Lady Maud began, flushing 
with anger more than confusion. But Lady Thoresby 
and the Countess joined in a laugh which drowned 
her voice ; and the former looked at her crimson face, 
saying to herself, “False! just as I imagined.” 

She would not have thought so, however, if she 
could have seen Lady Maud in her own room after 
she had gone, how she threw herself face downward 
upon the hearth-rug, crushed and humiliated, weep- 
ing the most despairing tears that ever fell from a 
proud girl’s eyes. 

Ah, how soon the ray of sunshine — the vain hope — 
which for a few days had brightened her eyes and 
cheered her heart, had changed to a dark shadow ! 

She felt that her whole life was blighted. 

The man in whom she had placed her trust during 
all his waywardness, whom she had defended when 
all others were against him, had proven himself un- 
\Yorthy — he had acted like a coward ; and it seemed 
that she could never hold her head up before the 
world again. 

Lady Thoresby, on her return from Merivale, made 
no mention to Lord Charleroy of Lady Maud or the 
Duke of Ellesmere, knowing that it would pain him ; 
but it seemed that the bitter dregs of the cup of de- 
spair were not to be spared him. 

The day before their intended departure for Castle 
Lorna, Yalerie rode over to Merivale to bid them all 
farewell, and she returned to Floradene seriously 
troubled. No sooner had she entered the house than 
she made her way to the sunny bay window of the 


iZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. l81 

blue parlor where Lord Charleroy was sitting and 
dropping her hand upon his shoulder said to him : 

“ Elwood, I thought you were going to marry Lady 
Maud Dancourt.” 

He started and looked up into her pretty face. 

What made you think so, Valerie ?” he asked. 

“ What made me think so !” she exclaimed. “ Why, 
any one would, I suppose, by the way at one time you 
were running after her ; and then, Eita said you had 
been betrothed ever since you were — you were hahies.'' 

Lord Charleroy smiled sadly. 

“Perhaps we learned that our parents had made a 
mistake,” he replied. 

“I don’t believe it,” she said, looking at him 
severely. “ I am inclined to think that you are to 
blame for it ; for Lady Maud looks changed and un- 
happy, and — ” 

“ She cannot be unhappy, Valerie !” he interrupted 
eagerly, his heart giving a great bound. 

“Well, she looks it, anyway,” Miss Thoresby de- 
clared ; “ and I don’t believe she is one bit pleased be- 
cause the Duke of Ellesmere is coming to Merivale.” 

“ The Duke of Ellesmere !” exclaimed Lord Charle- 
roy, in a hoarse whisper. 

“ Yes. That arouses you, I suppose ; and if I were 
you, Elwood Charleroy, I would just see that he 
didn’t marry my sweetheart right out of my hands,” 
she said. “ He’ll do it if you don’t mind ; and the 
Countess will be a well-wisher to it. If I was a man 
I would be a man ; and nothing would make me fight 
so hard as love.” 

But notwithstanding Valerie’s advice. Lord Charle- 
roy was convinced that there was no hope for him. 


18^ iZMA * OE, StJi^SttlNE AND SHADOW. 

and the following day Floradene was locked up ; and 
with Lord and Lady Thoresby, Miss Thoresby, and 
Izma Alvarez he took his departure for Castle Lorna, 
thinking, in his heart, as he turned his back on the 
old place : “ I will never return here. Good-bye to 
Floradene forever. Farewell, my home, where I have 
lived the fairest sunshine and the darkest shadows of 
my life !” 


CHAPTEE XXII. 

THE DUKE AKKIVES. 

Pekhaps no one was more disturbed over the de- 
parture of their friends from the neighborhood, than 
Lord Dancourt. “ He couldn’t see the sense in it,” 
he declared. “ Any one might be content at Flora- 
dene ; but if Lady Thoresby was obliged to return to 
Castle Lorna, it was rather selfish in her, he thought, 
to take everybody else who would consent to accom- 
pany her.” “Everybody else,” of course, meaning 
Izma Alvarez. It threw him into the worst of 
humors ; and he went about scolding for a whole day, 
saying a good many hard things about the whole 
party, and sparing no pains to upset the peace of the 
whole household. Not content with his tirade against 
Lady Thoresby, he finally attacked the Duke of Elles- 
mere, mimicking him ridiculously, to Lady South- 
wolde’s horror, in the presence of Lady Maud, calling 
him a “curled darling” with red locks, and avowing 
his intention of leaving Merivale and joining the Zulus 
if “Allan” was to be his brother-in-law-elect. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


183 


Lady Maud would have enjoyed this intensely if her 
heart had not been so heavy ; but she had the courage, 
at least, to smile approvingly, and the Countess be- 
came so indignant that she declared that the Earl 
should know of their insolence, and take them both in 
hand. 

This state of things did not argue well for the Duke 
of Ellesmere’s coming. If the Countess had not been 
so determined to carry her plan through, she would 
have been discouraged ; for she believed that Archie 
and Maud were colleagued against her. Lord Charle- 
roy’s departure had been a great relief to her ; for 
while he was at Eloradene, she had never felt safe. 

No one could fully realize the bitterness in Lady 
Maud’s heart. Valerie had been right: she ivas 
changed and unhappy ; and there was something in 
the expression of her eyes that mirrored the hopeless- 
ness of the soul within, yet she strove hard to conceal 
her misery, ashamed that any one should see her grief 
for a man whom she believed cared nothing for her. 

With all the pride in her nature, she steeled her 
heart against him ; and often when the hot tears 
gushed to her eyes and her bosom would be stirred 
with a sharp feeling of resentment, she would say, “ Is 
it my pride or my love that is most wounded ?” 

She never ceased to dread the Duke of Ellesmere’s 
coming. She could not tell why ; but there was a fear 
in her heart that the strength of her own will would 
forsake her. Archie, too, threatened daily to go away 
on the Duke’s arrival ; and she felt that she would be 
helplessly alone. She knew her mother’s intentions 
full well — if possible, she meant for her to be 
Duchess of Ellesmere. 


184 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

“It shall never be — never, never she declared 
again and again. But the day that the Duke arrived 
and his card was brought up to her, she looked at it, 
and turned it over between her trembling fingers, pal- 
ing and looking frightened in a manner that caused 
her maid to look at her in surprise. She was nervous, 
for she almost knew what his highness meant to say to 
her. 

She took no interest in her toilet, for in her heart 
she hoped that the Duke would be displeased with 
her. She did not even glance at herself as she left 
her room and descended to the drawing-room. 

The Duke was there ; and Lady Maud was relieved 
to see that the Countess was with him. She looked 
at him coldly. 

He was the same Duke of Ellesmere that he had been 
when she last saw him — there was no change : His 
short figure, which had always displeased her, was no 
taller ; his sandy hair and beard, which Lord Dan- 
court was pleased to call “ red,” looked more offensive 
to Lady Maud than ever ; and his blue eyes were 
quite as pale and expressionless as when he had be- 
stowed upon her loving glances a season ago. Per- 
liaps a year, added to his five and thirty, had made 
him the least bit older. At least, so thought Lady 
Maud as she advanced to meet him and he eagerly 
took her hand. 

The Countess arose at once, and, after a few re- 
marks left the two alone, regardless of Lady Maud’s 
beseeching glances. But the latter was determined 
that if the Duke of Ellesmere had come to Merivale 
for the purpose of proposing to her again, he should 
not, if she could prevent it, speak out his mind. She 


TZMA ; OR, STJNSHIXE AND SHADOW. 


185 


was so coldly polite to him that he did not have the 
courage to even hint of the desire in his heart ; and 
much sooner that he had intended, he took his leave, 
promising to call again, although he had received no 
invitation from Lady Maud. 

The Countess was disappointed at the shortness of 
his call ; but she was not alarmed, for she had learned 
from the Duke’s own lips that he had come to Meri- 
vale with the intention of winning Lady Maud for his 
wife if there was the glimmer of a hope for him, and 
that he would never return to London or his country 
seat until she had either accepted him or refused him 
again. Lady Southwolde had assured him that there 
was hope for him ; and when he had told her of his 
vast possessions, of his palatial mansions and superb 
family jewels, among the richest in all England, of 
which she had already heard, and told her that her 
daughter should be mistress of all these, she no 
longer had a regret for what she had done, but was 
only the more determined that Lady Maud should be 
the Duchess of Ellesmere. 

The day that the Duke arrived, a letter came to 
Lord Dancourt from Castle Lorna, written by Lady 
Thoresby, cordially inviting him to join them in Scot- 
land, as she was quite sure they would enjoy them- 
selves better if he was only there. “ I should have 
invited you beforehand, Archie,” she wrote, “ but I 
dreaded a refusal to my face ; and as Lady Maud had 
given me to understand that she could not accompany 
us to Castle Lorna, I feared that you would not come 
without her. I have thought it over, though, and I 
have come to the conclusion that you are only in the 
way at Merivale ; in fact, you must feel quite like an 


186 IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

orphan since the Duke of Ellesmere has arrived. 
Come up to Castle Lorna and I will be a mother to 
you, El wood will be a brother, Yalerie a sister, and 
Izma — Now don’t refuse ! There is such a scarci- 
ty of gentlemen up here that we are really in need of 
you. Come for a few days at least, and I will be, for- 
ever yours, Kita Thoresby.” 

Lord Dancourt laughed heartily over this quaint 
epistle, and Lady Thoresby was restored to favor at 
once ; but he knew that the invitation alone to Castle 
Lorna had not stirred the foolish hope in his breast 
and caused his heart to beat with gladness. He read 
a portion of the letter aloud to his mother, but taking 
care that the portion containing Izma’s name should 
be left out. The Countess was rather unwilling that 
he should accept the invitation ; but opposition was 
nothing to him. Lady Maud besought him, with tears 
in her eyes, not to leave her ; and even the Earl, for 
some reason, preferred that he should remain at home 
a while. But he was determined to go. Nothing could 
hold him back if the cars would carry him. 

The tide of the wind would have been less hard to 
change than Lord Dancourt’s mind when it was once 
made up ; and heedless of any one’s wishes except his 
own, he bade them a hasty farewell and left for Castle 
Lorna the following morning. 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


187 


CHAPTEE XXIII. 

CASTLE LOENA. 

Castle Loena was a magnificent structure of solid 
rock, situated in sight of a picturesque bay on the 
east side of Scotland. It had been erected during the 
reign of James VII., a few years prior to the revo- 
lution, when William and Mary took possession of 
the throne. It had once belonged to a descendant of 
the Stuart princes, who had spent the greater part 
of his life there ; but it had afterwards been sold, and 
passed into the hands of the Glendower family, who 
were succeeded by distant kinsmen named Montrose, 
the latter being the ancestors of the present Lord 
Thoresby. 

The place had been repaired or added to but little ; 
yet it bore its age well, and stood as firmly and 
grandly as when it had first been planted there. It 
was famed for the beauty of its surroundings, as well 
as the princely style of its ancient architecture. Its 
scenery, when viewed from the point of a quaint tower 
which occupied a dangerous rock in the northern area 
of the bay, was unequalled by anything in Scotland. 
The tower had been erected by one of the lords of 
Montrose, whose artistic love of beautiful scenery had 
prompted him to place it there. It was said that this 
had once served as his studio, where many superb 
creations of art had been placed upon canvas ; and 
even now, as a proof of it, a perfect scene of Castle 
Lorna hung on the wall of the little room at the top of 


188 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


the tower, where Lord Montrose had left it when he 
died. 

This picture had been viewed by many ; yet there 
were some who were afraid to venture to this danger- 
ous point. As long as Lady Thoresby lived at Castle 
Lorna she could never be persuaded but once to go to 
the tower. She declared that once was enough for her 
to risk her life to see Lord Montrose’s picture, and 
that for Castle Lorna itself, much less for a fine view 
of its scenery, she would never go there again; nor 
would she permit of Valerie venturing there. 

When Izma Alvarez had arrived at Castle Lorna, 
she was carried away with delight. She acknowledged 
it to be the grandest place she had ever seen in her life. 
She was content to sit at the window of her room all 
day and look across the beautiful waters of the bay, 
dreaming of the days of her childhood in sunny Spain, 
or watching the sea-gulls as they soared upward in the 
air, performing varied and graceful evolutions. She 
was glad that she had consented to come here. It was 
such a change from anything she had ever seen before ! 
It seemed to her that any one might find peace in a 
haven like this. Lady Thoresby had taken her over 
the castle and shown her every spot of beauty and in- 
terest, and Valerie had left nothing undone to make 
her happy ; yet, though she would have liked to have 
gone over to the tower and seen Lord Montrose’s pic- 
ture, of which she had heard so much, Lord Thoresby 
himself objected to it, saying that the tower had stood 
so long and the waves had beat against it so many 
years, that he did not consider it entirely safe. Lord 
Oharleroy, however, avowed his determination of tak- 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 189 

ing her over before she left Castle Lorna, if she was 
not afraid. 

Izma seemed to forget all cares during the days that 
she was with her new friends; and Yalerie was de- 
lighted at the way in which she joined in their merri- 
ment and laughter. Even Lord Thoresby, who was 
generally very grave, and seldom noticed any one, was 
charmed with her. 

“ She is the most winning child I ever saw, Eita,” 
he said to his wife. And Lady Thoresby, who was 
never jealous, laughed, and replied that, if he was not 
careful, he would insult Izma’s dignity by calling her a 
child. 

Lord Charleroy was very little company for any one. 
He was gloomy and morose, and very different from his 
former self. Lady Thoresby chided him, but it did no 
good. He was wrapped up in his own trouble, and 
determined to take no interest in anything. For this 
reason, Lady Thoresby had sent for Lord Dancourt, 
knowing that Castle Lorna could not fail to be enli- 
vened by his presence ; but hardly hoping that he 
would come, she said nothing of this to any one but 
Lord Thoresby. 

It was a surprise to all of them, particularly Izma, 
when Lord Dancourt arrived ; yet he was welcomed by 
his host and hostess with none the less warmth. To 
his disappointment, Izma greeted him with her usual 
coldness, saying she had not expected that he would 
follow them to Castle Lorna. 

Notwithstanding, they were thrown together much 
during the days that followed, for Captain Brunell, a 
young British officer, who had been in love with Valerie 
for more than a year, had came to Castle Lorna and 


190 IZMA ; OB, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

elaimed her whole attention during his stay, and, as 
Lord Charleroy’s society was not to be counted on, 
nothing was left Izma but to submit to the situation. 
And sometimes a foolish fancy would come to Archie, 
as he looked into the depths of her dark eyes, that his 
presence was not wholly distasteful to her ; again, 
however, when she coldly repulsed him, he would be- 
lieve that she indeed despised him. 

Nevertheless, he grew more in love with her each 
day. If she spoke a kind word to him or gave him a 
smile, he lived upon it for days. To be with her was 
the greatest blessing he asked, even though she stabbed 
his heart with her coldness. He longed to tell her 
how dear she had become to him, but he dared not : 
he could not brave the words of scorn he feared she 
would utter. 

Izma had learned one thing which she had not 
known before during her stay at Lane Park : Yalerie 
had told her of the childhood betrothal which had ex- 
isted between Lord Charleroy and Lady Maud Dan- 
court, and of the quarrel which had separated them 
(Valerie believed this) ; and Izma saw, with her own 
eyes, that something was wrong with Lord Charleroy, 
and knew instinctively that he was hopelessly in love 
with Lady Maud. 

She wondered much over it. She had not liked 
Lady Maud, — who had impressed her as being heart- 
less, haughty, and overbearing, — and she was sur- 
prised that Lord Charleroy should admire her. She 
decided, in her own mind, that, whatever had separated 
them, Lady Maud had been in fault. But she refrained 
from expressing her opinion, even to Yalerie. It was 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHIT^E ASfD SHADOW. 


191 - 


seldom that she could be brought to speak of the Dan- 
courts at all. 

One day Miss Thoresby, who, though occupied with 
her own love affair, had not failed to keep an eye on 
Izma and Lord Dancourt, said to her : 

“ I am glad that you are growing more friendly with 
Archie Dancourt, Izma. I wish you would fall in love 
with each other, and then we could have a double 
wedding. Wouldn’t it be grand?” And she broke 
into a happy laugh at the thought of it. 

But Izma looked horrified. 

“ You must be mad, Valerie !” she replied. “ Never 
again speak to me of such a thing!” 

“ But I really should like it, Izma,” Valerie per- 
sisted. “You do not love any one else, do you?” 

“No, no,” she replied quickly ; “but it would be a 
sin to marry Lord Dancourt.” 

“A sin! O Izma!” 

“It would, it would!” she declared vehemently, 
her beautiful face paling. “ A sin to the dead. It is 
my duty to hate him.” 

“ Pshaw ! that old prejudice again. I imagined that 
you were forgetting it,” said Valerie, impatiently. 

“How can I forget it?” she exclaimed with a quick 
breath of pain. 

“ Lord Dancourt could easily teach you if you would 
allow it,” Valerie replied. 

But this, instead of producing a change for the 
better, had the effect of making Izma more reserved 
than ever toward Archie ; and if he had ever despaired, 
it was surely now. He saw that he had come to 
Castle Lorna on a vain hope, and began to think of 
returning to Merivale. 


192 


IZMA ; OR, STJNSHmE AND SHADOW. 


CHAPTEE XXIV. 

A HAND, BUT NOT A HEART. 

Lady Maud had been unhappy enough before the 
Duke of Ellesmere’s coming to Merivale ; but now 
she was doubly so. Her misery seemed to increase 
each day. Both the Earl and Countess declared that 
she must marry the Duke ; but still obstinate, self- 
willed, and determined, she emphatically refused. No 
amount of persuasion could turn her. She did not 
love the Duke of Ellesmere, and she would not marry 
him. If the whole world were to fall upon its knees 
before her, it would beseech in vain. 

The Countess endeavored to arouse her resentment 
by referring to Lord Charleroy, saying that she would 
wed the Duke of Ellesmere to show him that she was 
not grieving over a slighted love ; but even this had 
no effect upon her. 

The Duke called regularly ; and Lady Southwolde 
knew that the time was near at hand when he would 
ask for an acceptance or a refusal. 

The Earl was alarmed. 

The summer days were waning. Autumn, in all its 
majesty, was taking possession of its kingdom, and, with 
its royal sceptre, was touching the trees with its varied 
tints of red, gold, and brown. The swallows had al- 
ready begun to fly southward, put to flight by the few 
signs of approaching winter, to build their nests anew ; 
and with sinking heart. Lord Southwolde saw time 
slipping from him, and knew that Lady Maud’s accept- 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


193 


ance of the Duke of Ellesmere was the only thing that 
stood between him and his doom. 

He had been so sure at first that she could be per- 
suaded ; but noAV the hope that had revived him seemed 
very frail. The Countess, however, bade him not be 
discouraged. 

“ I am not the woman to be outdone, Kobert,” she 
said firmly. “I have my heart in this matter, and 
Maud shall be the Duke of Ellesmere’s wife.” 

But a few days later than this, she herself was 
startled at receiving a note from the Duke, saying he 
would be at Merivale that day for the last time unless 
Lady Maud accepted him. He was losing hope ; he 
was inclined to believe that she did not care for him. 

Pale and trembling, the Countess sought her hus- 
band. 

“Eobert, the time has come,” she said in a husky 
voice. “Maud must know all.” 

The Earl, who was sitting at his desk in his study, 
sprang to his feet. 

“What do you mean?” he cried in alarm. 

She placed the Duke’s note in his hand. 

“ His highness is coming to-day to propose anew to 
Maud,” she said. “If you do not tell her the truth, 
she will refuse him. Her pride and dread of disgrace 
is the only prop we now have to lean upon. If this 
fails us,' Southwolde is lost.” 

The Earl paled, and threw himself back into his 
chair with a groan. 

“My God!” he exclaimed miserably. “I thought 
never to let my children know.” 

“ They must ! it is the only chance. They must 
bear it, or the whole world will know. Tell Maud the 


194 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

truth before the Duke arrives, and she will accept him ; 
if not, she will refuse him. I feel sure that she will 
not let Izma Alvarez ruin us. Eobert, are you so weak 
as this? Send for her at once, and tell her all, this 
very morning ?” 

The Earl placed his hand over his eyes as if to shut 
out his misery. A moment, and he looked up into his 
wife’s face again. Her eyes were full of dread. She 
was exerting herself to speak so calmly. 

“Shall I ring for Maud?” she asked, placing her 
|iand on the bell-rope. 

He nodded, and she obeyed. 

It was but a short time after the servant had an- 
swered the call, before Lady Maud appeared. She 
was looking quite pale and very unhappy ; but her 
pallor seemed to increase her loveliness. Her dress 
was of pure white merino, unrelieved by a single touch 
of color ; and as she paused in the doorway of the 
Earl’s study and looked from one to the other with an 
inquiring glance, she appeared like some tall, perfectly 
moulded statue that had suddenly loomed up against 
a dark background. 

Lady Southwolde’s heart smote her. 

What a shame to sell her beautiful daughter for 
gold ! yet she would make a peerless Duchess of Elles- 
mere. This was the thought that consoled the worldly 
minded Countess of Southwolde. 

The Earl called her to him, and Lady Maud saw, to 
her surprise, that he was trembling. She seated her- 
self on a hassock at his feet and placed her hands over 
his. 

“Father, what is it you have to say to me?” she 
asked kindly. “You seem agitated.” 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SIIADOAV. 


195 


Tlie Countess came forward and stood beside lier 
husband’s chair. 

‘‘ Your father is not well, my dear,” she said. “ You 
must not excite him. He wishes to speak to you about 
the Duke of Ellesmere.” 

Lady Maud looked up with an impatient glance. 

“ Wait until to-morrow, or some other time,” she 
said with a sigh. “ I am so tired of hearing about the 
Duke of Ellesmere.” 

She started to arise, but the Earl detained her. 

“No, you must hear to-day, Maud,” he replied. 
“The Duke wilDcome to Merivale to-day for the last 
time, unless — ” 

“For the last time! Thank heaven!” she inter- 
rupted, with a sigh of great relief. 

“ But you do not know the danger that threatens 
us,” said the Earl, with a distressed look on his face. 
“If the Duke leaves here without your promise to 
marry him, Maud, we are ruined.” 

An incredulous smile curved her lips. 

“You are rather earnest, I think, father,” she said. 
“ Yet” — with an attempt at carelessness — “ I am grow- 
ing accustomed to it.” 

The Earl paled with apprehension. Would even the 
knowledge of their insolvency change her ? 

The Countess looked at her as she sat there, so fair 
and unsuspecting, at her father’s feet, her beautiful 
eyes uplifted with that expression of reproach and 
mockery ; and tears of emotion, which she turned away 
to conceal, rose to to her eyes. She walked across the 
room and, reaching the door, said, without looking 
back ; 


196 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“ I will leave you together, Kobert. Perhaps you 
can explain better when alone.” 

She heard Lady Maud utter something to her in 
surprise, but she pretended not to have heard her ; 
and crossing the hall, she entered the library and threw 
herself down into a chair, panting : 

“ God help her to bear it !” 

She closed her eyes and waited. She could not bear 
to return to the study until she knew that the Earl 
had told all. She had caused the child she loved 
much sorrow, but she had believed it for her own 
good, and this last cruel stab she had dreaded to deal 
her more than all. 

She knew not how long she had sat there, when she 
heard a hoarse cry from Lady Maud’s own lips. She 
did not move or attempt to go to her ; she only 
moaned and opened her eyes, and then closed them 
again, clinching her lips between her teeth tightly. 

Suddenly, however, the door of the library was flung 
open, and Lady Maud herself burst into the room. 
Her face was so white and drawn, and her eyes were so 
full of anguish, that the Countess held out her arms to 
her, with a pitying cry, as she had when she was a little 
child. 

“My darling!” she exclaimed. And Lady Maud 
went to her and flung herself at her feet, crying : 

“ Mother ! mother 1 tell me, is it true ? Is there 
no help for me ? Am I to give up the love that I 
would have carried with me to my grave, and marry 
the Duke of Ellesmere ? Are we ruined ? Is South- 
wolde lost if I do not wed this man that I hate ? 
Tell me, before I go mad 1” 

The Countess gathered her to her breast. 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHmK AND SHADOW. 


197 


“ It is all true,” she replied, huskily ; “ but it will 
not be so hard, Maud, if you will save us. You will 
soon learn to love—” 

A harsh, wild laugh cut short her sentence. 

“ I shall soon die,” she contradicted hysterically. 
“ Oh, heaven, why am I called upon to bear so 
much ? My heart ! my heart ! it is broken !” And 
with a wailing cry, she buried her face in her hands, 
and rocked herself to and fro, repeating over and over, 
‘‘ I shall soon die ! I shall soon die !” 

The Countess attempted to console her, telling her 
that, if she married the Duke of Ellesmere, her father’s 
failure might, after all, prove a blessing. She would 
be one of the richest and most admired w^oman in 
England. She was quite sure she would never regret 
it. Afterwards, she would be glad that she listened 
to good advice and saved them from destruction. 

But Lady Maud refused to be comforted. Her 
heart crushed, her pride humbled, she crouched there 
on the floor, all hope, all interest in her future life, 
dead. 

The Countess, though pitying her with all the 
motherly love in her nature, did not forget that South- 
wolde was at stake. 

“ Maud, you will surely save us !” she said beseech- 
ingly. ‘‘I think I should die if Izma Alvarez should 
take all we possess from us. It would kill me to 
witness her triumph. It would be a death-blow to us 
all.” 

‘‘ Give me time ; give me a little while to think,” Lady 
Maud pleaded huskily. 

But the Countess declared that there was no time 


198 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

to spare, as tlie Duke would be at Merivale that very 
day to receive lier answer. 

Even as she spoke, there was a tap on the library 
door ; and as Lady Southwolde sprang to her feet and 
opened it, she was confronted by a servant who an- 
nounced that the Duke of Ellesmere was in the draw- 
ing-room and desired to see Lady Maud. 

The Countess turned back to her daughter with a 
pale, questioning face. Her countenance said plain- 
ly : “ Have mercy, and save us ! It is our last hope !” 

The unhappy girl dragged herself to her feet. Her 
lips moved, but gave forth no sound. She started to- 
wards the door, but Lady Southwolde detained her. 

‘‘ Where are you going ? What will you do, Maud ?” 
she asked. 

‘‘ I am going to the dramng-room to sell myself to 
the Duke of Ellesmere,” she replied bitterly. 

“ But your hair is down and your face is pale. You 
will not go into his presence like that?” 

‘‘ I do not care. What does it matter ? My fate is 
fixed. I am to be the Duchess of Ellesmere,” and 
Lady Maud, with a mirthless lahgh, as she brushed 
past the Countess, and, with unsteady step, made her 
way up the hall. 


CHAPTER XXY. 

A DESPERATE SITUATION. 

It was the day before Lord Dancourt’s intended 
departure from Castle Lorna. He was going home — 
there wrs nothing for him in Scotland j and only this 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 190 

morning he had informed Lady Thoresby of the fact. 
His countenance had been very gloomy when he told 
her he would return to Merivale on tlie morrow, and 
she had besought him to remain longer, saying that 
the journey would be much more pleasant if he would 
wait until Izma was ready to return home, and accom- 
pany her. The temptation was great, but Archie was 
strong enough to resist it ; and in spite of all that Lady 
Thoresby could say, his mind remained unchanged. 
The days that he had spent at Castle Lorna had been 
more full of pain than any in his life ; yet he was loath 
to put them behind him. He knew that his love for 
Izma Alvarez was fruitless, but it was sweet to be near 
her, even though she repulsed him and* caused his 
heart many a pang. 

He had not the opportunity of speaking to her or 
telling her that this was his last day at Castle Lorna 
until late that afternoon, when^ strolling down by the 
water’s edge, in the vicinity of the tower, he came 
across her, sitting alone on a large rcxjk and gazing 
dreamily out at sea. She made a pretty, unconscious 
picture as she half reclined there, with her elbow on 
the rock, and her dark head, from which her hat had 
fallen back, supported by one small hand, that looked 
snow-white against her raven tresses. 

Lord Dancourt stopped and looked at her a moment 
before approaching, wondering what could be her 
thoughts. His shadow on the shinys and startled her, 
and she looked up to see him almost beside her. 

“Ah! You?” she exclaimed. “I thought I was 
alone.” 

“You were until this moment,” he replied. 

“ May I sit here beside you ? This is my last day 


200 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

at Castle Lorna. Perhaps ” — with a smile that waS 
more sad than glad — “ the thought will help you to be 
kind to me.” 

He was never sure, but he fancied he saw her start. 

She moved her skirts and made room for him, say- 
ing : “ You may sit here if you like. Your decision 
to leave Castle Lorna is rather sudden, is it not?” in- 
differently. 

“ Not at all,” he replied, flinging himself down al- 
most at her feet and looking up into her face ; ‘‘ I 
have been thinking of it for days. I am not happy. I 
hardly know where I want to go or stay, Miss Alvarez. 
Like ‘ The Fugitive,’ 

“ ‘ There is no quiet left in life, 

Not any moment brings me rest: 

Forever more, from shore to shore, 

I bear about a laden breast.’ ” 

♦ 

Izma looked at him strangely. He could not under- 
stand the glance she gave him. 

“ You are homesick, Lord Dancourt,” she said 
quietly. 

“ Never. I fear that it is worse than that,” he re- 
plied, with a forced laugh, picking up the volume of 
“Meredith” that had slipped from her lap to the 
ground and lay there forgotten. 

“ Are you fond of Lord Lytton’s poems ?” turning 
the book over and opening it. 

“ When I am not dreaming of other things.” 

“ Are you in a thoughtful mood to-day ?” 

“ I think so ; at least, I had forgotten ‘ Owen Mere- 
dith.’ I might have left the book there, and the waves 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


201 


would have carried it out to sea, if you had not dis- 
covered it.” 

“ Do you find such pleasure in day-dreams ?” he 
asked wonderingly. 

“ There is a sweet pain in them that satisfies me. 
They are my most faithful companions. If I had been 
born a poetess, Lord Dancourt, I should have lived 
alone for my work.” 

‘‘And for whom do you live now?” The question 
sprung to his lips involuntarily. 

A smile so sad that he longed to take her in his arms 
and comfort her, flitted over her beautiful face. 

“ For my mother and father in heaven, I think,” she 
replied. “ I live to join them there.” 

“ Is it not a lonely thought ?” asked Archie, thinking 
that it was rather a morbid view of life. 

“ It is a very joyous one to me. I have no other 
loved ones.” 

“ But they are dead, you know,” said Archie, devoutly 
wishing that her mind would dwell as lovingly on the 
living ones that cared for her. 

“ Dead to this world, but living in heaven. In my 
dreams, they are always full of the vigor of life and 
health.” 

Lord Dancourt, who had never thought much of 
death or stopped to form a theory of the world be- 
yond, was rather surprised at her earnestness ; yet in 
spite of himself, he was impressed with the manner in 
which she spoke. He somehow felt ashamed of his 
own life. 

He did not look up, but turned the pages of the 
volume in his hand rapidly, and coming to these words 
suddenly, read aloud : 


202 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“ ‘ Be happy, child. The last wild words are spoken. 

To-morrow, mine no more, the world will claim thee. 

I blame thee not. But all my life is broken. 

Of the brief Past, I have no single token. 

Never in years to come my lips shall name thee — 

Never, child, never !’ ” 

Izma readied out and placed her hand across the 
page. He looked up into her face quickly, and saw 
that she had, without doubt, grown paler. 

“ Don’t read those lines,” she said entreatingly. 
‘‘ They are too full of pain.” 

“ Yet a farewell could not be otherwise than sad.” 

She did not reply, but rose rather abruptly to her 
feet and shook out the folds of her black dress. 

“ Are you going ?” he asked, giving her a look of re- 
proach. 

“ The rock has ceased to be comfortable,” she replied 
evasively. 

Lord Dancourt followed her example, and rose to his 
feet. She was silent for a moment, then, looking to- 
ward the tower, he said : 

“ Lord Montrose must have been a queer sort of 
fellow. Have you ever been over to see his picture 
of Castle Lorna ?” 

‘‘ No,” she replied, following his glance. 

“ Are you afraid?” 

“ Certainly not ; but I could hardly go alone.” 

“ Should you like to see inside the tower ?” 

‘‘Yery much.” 

Lord Dancourt hesitated. 

“ Suppose you let me take you over,” he suggested. 

“ What ! this afternoon ?” she exclaimed, in surprise. 

Yss, why not?” 


iZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHAD0T7. 203 

It is growing late,” she replied, looking around 

her. 

“ But it will not take us long. I can row you over 
and bring you back before the sun is fairly down. It 
is my last day at Castle Lorna, you know, and neither 
of us may ever have the chance of going to the tower 
again. Come!” he insisted, with his very heart in his 
eyes. “ It is my first request, and perhaps the last 
that I will ever make of you.” 

If she had not been so unusually kind to him to-day 
he would hardly have dared to ask this of her, for her 
refusal would have been a certainty ; but he saw her 
waver, and knew that the answer he desired was won. 

“ Are you sure that you will bring me back safely ?” 
she asked, somehow unable to resist the magnetic in- 
fluence of his eyes. 

“ Can you not trust me for so much ?” 

“ I will try you this once,” she consented, with a 
hesitating glance. “ But ” — suddenly — “ will Lord 
Thoresby like it?” 

“ He will not know until we have safely returned ; 
and then he can say nothing, except, perhaps, that it 
was rather venturesome.” 

“ I shall not mind that,” said Izma, with a smile, as 
she followed Lord Dancourt towards the spot where a 
small but firm row-boat was anchored. 

He unfastened it, and assisted her to a seat, retain- 
ing her hand perhaps longer than was necessary. 
As he picked up the oars and rowed away from the 
shore, he looked into her lovely eyes, with a smile. 

“ It was very kind of you to come with me,” he said. 

‘‘I do not agree with you,” she replied, looking 
down into the water and dropping her hand carelessly 


So4 IZMA ; OR, STJJfSHTNE AND SHADOW. 

Overboard. “I came to gratify my own desire. I 
have been longing to see inside the tower ever since I 
came to Castle Lorna.” 

“ Then it was not to please me that you came.’* 

‘‘No,” she replied honestly. “ I should not have 
come for that alone — far from it.” 

Wounded and discouraged by this answer. Lord 
Dancourt relapsed into silence and did not speak 
again until the rock upon which the tower was sit- 
uated was reached. 

Izma too was silent, and amused herself by watch- 
ing the ripples her fingers made in the water as she 
trailed them along by the side of the boat. If she 
knew that Archie’s eyes were upon her, she made no 
sign of it. 

When the boat slackened, she looked up. They 
were at the foot of the rock, and Izma gave a little 
shiver and cried : 

“ How large and tall it seems when we are near it !” 

“ Do you begin to feel frightened ?” asked Archie. 

“ Not the least,” she replied, rising to her feet ; 
“yet” — looking up — “it is rather steep climbing.” 

“ We will manage it,” he said, rowing close up 
against the rock and fastening the chain attached to 
the boat around a projecting stone. “ Many before us 
have reached the tower in safety.” 

But it was as Izma had said — it was rather steep 
and difficult climbing. Lord Dancourt held her hand 
tightly, as they made their way up the rugged steps ; 
but several times when her foot would slip backwards, 
she gave a little startled scream and clung to him 
closer, half sorry, though not admitting it, that she 
had consented to come. 


izma; on, sunshine and shadow. 206 

Once when she looked frightened, Archie laughed 
at her and asked her if her bravery had deserted her; 
and she drew away from him, saying that she could as 
well make the ascent alone. But he took her hand al- 
most forcibly, bidding her to look back of her and see 
if she did not think a guide was necessary to insure 
her safety. 

She obeyed ; and the spot upon which they stood 
seemed so high and dangerous that she shuddered 
and scarcely breathed again until the tower door was 
reached. 

“ At last !” she exclaimed, with a sigh of relief. And 
Lord Dancourt stopped to wipe the perspiration from 
his brow. 

“It was rather tiresome,” he admitted. “I should 
not like to make the trip daily.” 

“ But it is sublime up here, is it not ?” she asked, 
looking around her in admiration. 

“ Yes, but not half so much so here, I should imagine, 
as at the top of the tower,” he replied. “ Come ! we 
will see Lord Montrose’s studio. Poor fellow ! he must 
have had a hard time of it. I would as soon have 
thought of having a studio in the skies.” 

He gave the heavy door a jerk and opened it, and 
Izma followed him inside. Here it was hardly more 
than a vault with solid rock flooring ; but a flight of 
steep, narrow, winding steps led them up into the top 
of the tower, which was all windows and light. 

There was nothing here but the picture, which was 
large enough to cover almost one side of the wall ; an 
odd-looking, old-fashioned easel of solid brass ; and 
the stains of overturned oils and paints on the bare 
floor, which more than a century had not been sufli- 


206 izma; or, sunshine and shadoav. 

cient to wear away or wipe out. Yet tlie crimsoL sun- 
set flooding the apartment and streaming like gold- 
dust across the superb scene of Castle Lorna made of 
it a place of beauty. 

^ When Izma stood before the picture, she cried out 
in delight. 

“ It is perfect !” she exclaimed ; “but why do they 
let it remain here?” 

“ In remembrance of Lord Montrose, I suppose,’^ 
he said ; “ and because too the scene when viewed 
from this window is so like it.” 

He called her to him where he stood, and standing 
there together, in the glow of the dying sunset, they 
viewed the magnificent scene around them. 

Izma for a few moments was aw^d into silence by 
its beauty. 

“ It is one of the grandest views in Scotland,” said 
Archie. 

“ Yes, but any one might perish here and no one 
would be the wiser,” she replied. “ I should be afraid 
to come here often. It is more dangerous than I 
thought.” 

“ Lord Montrose was brave enough to risk it,” said 
Archie, with a smile. 

“No matter, he was — what is that, Lord Dancourt ?” 
Her sentence broke off abruptly. She leaned forward 
and looked out the window, down into the bay, in- 
tently, at a small object on the surface of the water 
that was rocking with the waves and drifting farther 
and farther from sight. 

“ Where ?” he asked, for the moment seeing nothing. 

She pointed to it, and he followed with his eyes the 
direction indicated. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


207 


“ Upon my word, it looks like a boat !” lie exclaimed 
excitedly. 

‘‘ Yet there seems to be no one in it,” said Izma, 
straining her eyes to their utmost. 

Archie gazed at it another moment in silence, then 
suddenly he started violently, and his face turned 
ghastly white. [ 

Izma turned and looked at him, and they stared at 
each other, with a look of fear in their eyes. The 
same thought had struck them both. She reeled back 
a step and then looked out the window again at the 
little dark speck upon the water, clutching at her heart 
and breathing hoarsely. 

“ My God !” she exclaimed wildly. “ What if it is 
our boat !” 

“Heaven forbid !” said Archie, greatly agitated. 

Izma clutched his arm in her excitement and glared 
at him despairingly. 

“Did you not fasten the boat?” she asked huskily. 

“ Yes, yes, securely, I thought, but — but — it can’t 
be ours — of course not” — with a forced, mirthless 
laugh. “ Don’t alarm yourself.” 

“ Go, see !” she commanded hoarsely. “ I feel that 
it is our boat. Heaven help us !” 

“ I will,” he said ; “ but, pray, be calm. Have hope, 
at least until I return.” 

He wheeled around and left her hurriedly, but 
while she crouched there alone beside the window, 
watching the little boat on the water as the waves 
rocked it from sight, watching the sun as it slowly dis- 
appeared, leaving the world in gloom and* shadows, 
her suspense was terrible. A thousand doubts and 
horrors crowded into her brain. 


208 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

What if she should die here ? No one might ever 
know what became of her. Some day her bones 
might be found here, but that would be all. And 
Lord Dancourt, — would he die there with her ? Could 
he escape? Had it been his fault if the boat was 
gone? 

Then she thought of the Earl of Southwolde. If 
she perished here in the tower, his estate would be 
safe — there would be no one left to claim the mort- 
gage that hung over him and would ruin him in the 
end. There would be no revenge that she had threat- 
ened. The Dancourts would be freed from the dan- 
ger of disgrace and poverty forever. 

She began to believe that it was a plot to get her 
out of the way ; and as the minutes dragged by and 
lengthened into a half-hour, and Lord Dancourt did 
not return, she imagined that he had 'carried out the 
scheme, and left her there to her fate. 

She paced the floor and wrung her hands in agony. 

The tall picture of Castle Lorna against the wall 
looked grim and natural in the twilight ; and she felt 
that she must fall upon her knees before it and call 
for aid. 

The world without grew darker and darker; the 
light vithin the tower room grew dimmer by degrees. 
Another half-hour had passed and Izma was well- 
nigh distracted, when suddenly she heard a step on 
the stairs. 

Her doubts melted, her heart leaped with joy. Lord 
Dancourt had returned for her. 

She sprang toward the door to meet him ; but when 
he appeared before her, his face was so pale and hope- 
less that she fell back, with a terrified cry. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


209 


The boat !” was all she could exclaim ; for the wild 
beating of her heart almost strangled her. 

Lord Dancourt looked at her pityingly, and, reach- 
ing out, took both her trembling hands. 

‘‘God help you, Izma,” he replied; “the boat is 
gone !” 


CHAPTEE XXVI. 

HOW IT ENDED. 

The consternation was great at Castle Lorna that 
night when it was learned that Izma and Lord Dan- 
court were missing. House and grounds were thor- 
oughly searched, but not a trace of them was to be 
found. No one had seen them together, — Valerie re- 
membered that Izma had complained of a headache 
that afternoon, and gone to her room ; and Lady 
Thoresby had seen Archie leave the house and stroll 
out toward the bay, — but the natural conclusion was 
that they had gone away together. There could surely 
be but one explanation — they had eloped. Yet it 
was a mystery that they should steal away in this 
secret manner ; when the very hint of a marriage be- 
tween them would have been hailed by each and all of 
them with joy. 

Valerie, however, was less ready than the rest to 
credit an elopement ; for she had not forgotten Izma’s 
seeming dislike for Lord Dancourt, and how the very 
mention of her marriage with him had shocked her. 

“ Something is wrong,” she declared, tears stream- 
ing from her eyes, “ Izma was not the girl to run 


210 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOT^^, 

away like this ; and, besides, she wasn’t in love with 
Archie Dancourt.” 

‘‘You needn’t be too sure of that,” said Lady 
Tlioresby. “Izma seldom spoke her thoughts and 
feelings, I am fully satisfied that it is an elopement. 
I dare say when we see Izma again, she will be Lady 
Dancourt.” 

Yet in sj)ite of the conclusion, she was extremely 
uneasy, and did not sleep a wink all night. Valerie 
did not even lay her head upon her pillow, but sat 
through the whole night listening to every sound and 
praying that the lamp which she left burning in the 
window would guide Izma straight back to Castle 
Lorna, wherever she might be. 

Not once did any of them think of the tower. 

No dream came to them that Izma was there, mis- 
erable, forlorn, and hopeless, her very heart dead with 
despair. The moon-beams had never fallen upon a 
sadder picture than the one in the tower room that 
night. 

Since Lord Dancourt had returned to Izma, saying 
that the boat was gone, and she had reeled away from 
him with a hopeless cry, and fallen upon her knees 
there by the window, she had not spoken. He had 
tried to plead with her ; he had entreated her not to 
blame him, saying that he had believed the boat se- 
curely fastened, and that, as God was his witness, it 
had not been his fault. It was the chain that had 
done the mischief — it had become unlinked, leaving 
the part around the rock behind it. But Izma was 
too miserable to reply or look up into his pale, be- 
seeching face. With her head upon the window-sill 
and her face buried in her hands, she knelt there in 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. ^11 

silence tlirougli the live-long night. And Archie — his 
face graver and paler than it had ever been in his life 
— stood with his back to the room, looking first up- 
ward at the blinking stars overhead and the silvery 
moon, which seemed to pity him in his distress, and 
then at the glimmering light afar, in Valerie’s window 
at Castle Lorna. 

He knew that they had been missed ere now, and 
wondered what they were saying of them. What 
would they think at Castle Lorna ? how could their 
mysterious absence be explained ? they would never 
know where to search for them ; it might be months 
before any one would chance to come to the tower 
it was quite probable that he and Izma would perish 
there together. He shuddered at the last thought 
and suppressed a groan. What a cruel death it would 
be for the girl that he would freely have given his own 
life to save ! 

If he only had a light to place in the tower win- 
dow, he might have had hope of attracting the notice 
of some one at Castle Lorna ; but there was no means 
about him of letting any one know that they were 
there. Their doom was fixed, he decided, almost at 
the very moment he saw that the boat was gone. 

Not once during the night did he approach the for- 
lorn figure at the window on the other side of the 
room or speak to her ; for he knew that he could 
neither comfort her or give her hope. If she had dis- 
liked him before, what must be her feeling for him 
now ? He knew that she must despise him. 

Oh, how long and lonely the night seemed ! The 
silence would have been deathlike if it had not been 
for the roaring and beating of the waves against the 


IZMA * 6e, ftUJfSHINE Am) SHADOW* 

mighty rock upon which the tower stood. A sob from 
Izma, too, would occasionally reach Archie’s ears and 
almost madden him. 

It was a night that neither of the two hopeless pris- 
oners ever forgot. The long hours that Lord Dan- 
court stood there were painfully fatiguing; yet he was 
not aware of his bodily suffering — he knew nothing 
but the agony of his mind. He watched the night 
wear itself away. 

“ The half-moon melting out of the sky ; 

And just to be seen still, a star here, a star there. 

Faint high up in the heart of the heavens ; so high 
And so faint, you can scarcely be sure that they are there.” 

He saw the light in Valerie’s window at Castle 
Lorna go out, shuddered at the darkness which pre- 
ceded the first faint streaks of dawn, and then, with 
approaching daylight, a feeble hope stirred his heart. 
He breathed a sigh of gratitude that the night was 
gone, feeling that another such would drive him stark 
mad. 

When daylight had burst full upon the earth and 
the tower room was once more freed from all traces 
of darkness, Izma raised her head and looked up with 
weary eyes, and Lord Dancourt approached her. 
She waved him back, but he heeded her not. 

“ Try to forgive me,” he pleaded, falling on his 
knees beside her, ‘‘ and cheer up. There may be hope 
for us.” 

But she shook her head and turned her eyes away. 

“ There is none for me,” she said huskily. 

“ But we may he saved — it is too soon to despair,” 
he persisted. “ Izma, you blame me ; but I swear 
that I would give my life for yours. It pains me to 


iZMA; 01 ?, STJXSHINE AND SHADOW. 213 

see you suffer. God knows I did not mean to cause 
you tins.” 

“ Oh, do not speak to me !” she begged. 

“ I must,” he said passionately. “ Izma — darling — 
we may die here together ; but know this- — that I loved 
you ; that you were my very life.” ' He had bent 
nearer to her, and she could almost feel the ardent 
gaze of his eyes. For a moment she seemed unable 
to resist him ; she was pale and silent ; then with a 
swift movement, she rose to her feet and drew back 
from him. He started to speak again, but she raised 
her hand with a silencing gesture. 

‘‘ Hush !” she commanded hoarsely. “ Do not in- 
sult me. Lord Dancourt, when I am here alone. I 
will not hear another word of this. I believed you a 
gentleman, if nothing else.” 

Stung to the quick, he turned from her. 

“ Pardon me,” he said, bowing low; “ I was indeed 
quite beside myself. I shall not refer to the subject 
again.” 

And this was the last word spoken between them 
until perhaps an hour later, when an excited cry from 
Izma’s lips caused Archie to turn and hasten over to 
the window where she was standing. 

‘‘What is it?” he asked quickly. 

She pointed down toward the water. 

“Look!” she cried. “It is a rowboat, and some 
one is in it !” 

“Thank God!” exclaimed Archie, fervently, seeing 
that she had spoken truly. 

“ But what if it should pass by and its occupant not 
• see us,” said Izma, apprehensively. 

“ It mnst not. It is yet some distance away. If 


214 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

you will come quickly, we may be able to reach the 
foot of the rock before it passes. We can then call it 
to us. Come ! If we lose this opportunity of escape, 
there may not be another thrown in our way.” He 
spoke hastily and excitedly ; and taking Izma by the 
hand, he hurried her out of the room and down the 
winding steps, and a few moments later they were 
standing outside the tower, where the most miserable 
night of their lifetime had been spent. 

Izma breathed a sigh of relief. The open air 
seemed to put new life in her ; and with but little as- 
sistance, she made a rapid descent. Archie himself 
had no regret at having the tower behind behind him, 
yet he felt in nowise safe to rescue until they were in 
sight of the boat again. When they had neared the 
foot of the rock, he saw, to his joy, that the man in the 
boat was rowing steadily towards them. 

He shouted to him, and he looked up and saw them. 

“ We are saved,” said Archie, joyfully, as the man 
nodded to him and rowed up against the rock ; and 
Izma breathed a silent prayer of thankfulness to 
heaven. 

She was very nearly exhausted, however,when Archie 
handed her into the boat and took his seat beside her. 
The man who tendered them his service was evidently 
a commoner, — apparently a Scottish fisherman, — as 
was shown by his dress and his corrupt dialect. 

Archie explained to him how they had been de- 
tained at the tower “that morning” by their boat 
being swept away, and thankod him heartily if he would 
carry them to shore. The man readily consented ; but 
when he asked at what point he should leave them off, 
Lord Dancourt looked blank for a moment and then 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


215 


glanced at Izma, who was regarding him with a 
strange, half-fearful look in her eyes. Perhaps the 
same thought had flashed across their minds. What 
would be said and thought of their mysterious absence 
when they returned to Castle Lorna ? 

Izma, without doubt, turned a shade paler, and 
Archie looked extremely uneasy. 

“ Where are you going, old man?” he asked, by way 
of deferring his answer. 

He replied that he had started to the rector’s, a half- 
mile down the bay. 

“ The rector’s !” exclaimed Archie, with a start. 
“ Do you live there?” 

No, he didn’t live there, but he went to the place 
regularly to carry fish. He supplied the greater por- 
tion of the residents of this parish. He had often 
been to Castle Lorna. 

Lord Dancourt glanced at Izma again. 

Still she looked at him with that hunted expres- 
sion in her eyes. He knew full well that the truth 
had suddenly dawned upon her. She realized that 
her good name was at stake. Her very lips were 
white, and he could see that she was trembling vio- 
lently. 

“ Great heaven !” he thought, pitying her with all 
his heart, “ what should he do?” 

There was only one course — he kneAv it from the 
very start ; yet he dreaded it for her sake. How she 
would despise him for this, yet he was innocent. He 
turned to her with a beseeching look. 

‘‘ Will you go with me to the rector's, Izma ?” he 
asked, striving to speak calmly. 

She gasped and placed her hand to her heart. For 


216 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

a moment she seemed incapable of replying ; but he 
saw that she understood. He bent nearer to her and 
continued in a low voice : 

“ It is hard upon you ” — his lips twitching with pain 
— “ but for your sake — believe me, it is best,” he 
broke olf. 

“That we go to the rector’s,” she said huskily. 

“ Yes, before returning to Castle Lorna.” 

She raised her eyes to heaven and her lips moved ; 
slie clasped her hands convulsively and moaned aloud. 
She seemed to forget the presence of the fisherman, 
whose eyes were fixed upon her in surprise. 

“What shall I say?” she cried intense tones. “I 
am helpless — helpless ! Better had I been left to die 
in the tower !” 

Archie was wounded and distressed, but he con- 
cealed it as well as possible. He saw that Izma was 
too greatly agitated to make a wise decision ; and turn- 
ing to the man before them, he said: 

“ Kow us as far as you are going, and we will ask no 
more of you.” 

Wondering, but in silence, he obeyed and launched 
out into the water. No word passed between Archie 
and Izma as they moved swiftly along. Both were 
very pale, and Lord Daucourt looked uneasy and ner- 
vous. Izma drew as far away from him as the boat 
would allow, and not once did she look towards him. 
Neither of them could have possibly been more miser- 
able. 

It was not long before they came in sight of the 
pretty cottage where the rector of the parish resided. 
It was situated some distance from the shore ; and just 
beyond it could be seen the steeples of the old chapel 


iZMA ; OR, STTNSHIKR AND SHADOW. 21? 

whicli had stood steadfast and triumphant through 
many years. 

As they neared the place, Archie glanced at Izma, 
and she chanced to look up for the first time and catch 
his eye. Her hands were clasped upon her lap, and 
she looked so piteously grieved that he could feel no 
harshness * towards her. The oarsman’s hack was 
turned ; and seeing that they were unnoticed, Archie 
placed his hand upon hers, saying bitterly : “ Is the 

thought of becoming my wife such a terrible one to 
you?” 

See shivered and drew away with a pained cry, mur- 
muring something that sounded like “ My oath ! my 
oath to the dead !” 

He did not understand her, but continued, as the 
boat touched shore : “ See ! we are here at last. 

Izma, speak quickly!” — entreatingly. “What have I 
done that you should hate me so ? I did not wilfully 
bring this upon you ; for never would I have spoiled 
your life by making you an unwilling bride. The rep- 
aration is for your sake, yet gladly would I make it. 
Will you come to the old chapel and have the rector 
marry us ? Then can no one but ourselves know the 
truth or speak unjustly.” 

“ You know that it is the only thing left me,” slie 
replied in a choked voice ; “ but remember all the 
days of your life that I was forced to this step.” 

“ I shall not soon forget it,” he said unhappily, ris- 
ing and assisting her from the boat. 

When they stood upon the ground he turned to the 
man beside him and thanked him for his service, 
dropping a crown into his hand and saying : “ We are 
going over to the chapel. You will oblige us greatly 


218 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

by sending tlie rector over there. Tell him that it is 
a conple who wish to be married, and to come at 
once.” 

Then, without waiting for the astonished man to re- 
cover his speech or question him, he turned away, 
and Izma, with downcast head, followed. When he 
was a short distance away, he stopped and waited until 
she was beside him, and they continued their steps 
toward the chapel in gloomy silence. Neither of them 
spoke until they were inside the churchyard, and then, 
when Izma drew a long breath, he asked her if she was 
tired, and she replied in a heart-sick tone that she was 
wearied unto death. 

He took her arm and led her up the chapel steps. 
He tried the door, but it was locked ; and brushing 
away the gravel on the topmost step, he bade her be 
seated and rest until the rector came to wed them. 
He did not sit beside her, but wandered restlessly up 
and down the path that led to the gate, his head bent, 
his eyes upon the ground, and his hands clasped be- 
hind him. 

No one, to have seen them, would have dreamed that 
they were waiting there to soon stand together at the 
altar. 

Even the sun seemed undecided as to whether or 
not it should shine. By fits and starts it came out 
from under the clouds, and then rushed back and hid 
its face as if ashamed of its effort to show itself. 

The time to both Izma and Archie seemed very long 
before the rector put in an appearance ; but he had, in 
truth, hastened to the chapel without a moment’s de- 
lay. When Izma looked up and saw him coming up 
the walk, followed by two other men, whom she knew 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 219^ 

at once were to stand as witnesses, and Lord Dan- 
court at his side, her heart gave a great bound and 
fluttered in her throat, and she raised her eyes to 
heaven, crying under her breath : 

“ Father, forgive me ! Do not blame me for the 
triumph of my enemy ! I am compelled to marry a 
Dancourt instead of keeping my oath. Free me, oh, 
free me from my promise !” 

When the rector reached her side he offered her his 
hand and his follower bowed to her. The door of 
the chapel was unlocked, and as they stepped inside, 
the rector turned and joined the hands of Izma and 
Lord Dancourt, for the bride seemed to have forgotten 
to even take her bridegroom’s arm. 

It was a dull marriage. The church itself was full 
of gloomy shadows ; for during the whole of the cere- 
mony the sun refused to come out, and the shade 
upon the bride’s black dress made it look even blacker. 
Her face was very white, but not more solemn than 
her bridegroom’s, whose heart was filled with pain be- 
cause he was taking to himself a loveless wife. 

He could feel her hand tremble on his arm as she 
uttered the sacred marriage vows there in the pres- 
ence of God and witnesses, and he knew that she 
shuddered to say the words that bound her to him for 
life ; yet in spite of all, there was a thrill of triumph in 
his breast when they turned from the altar and the 
thought came to him like a breath of honey that, for 
“ better for worse, for weal or for woe,” the beautiful, 
beloved woman whom he led from the old chapel was 
his lawfully wedded wife. 


220 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


CHAPTEE XXYII. 

UNCEETAINTY. 

‘‘ Will wonders never cease ?” 

Lady Tlioresby looked up from the paper that she 
was reading, with a start and a look of surprise ; and 
rising from her chair where she sat in the library, 
near the grate, at Castle Lorna, went over to the 
lounge where Yalerie, in a fit of dejection, had thrown 
herself and was making a vain attempt to peruse a 
book. As Lady Tlioresby spoke, she looked up and 
tossed the book aside, with a sigh of relief, raising her- 
self on her elbow. 

“ What is it, Eita ?” she asked with a look of inter- 
est. Anything of Lord Dancourt and — ” 

“Nothing of the sort,” broke in Lady Thoresby. 
“I should be more grateful over the news if it was 
such. Eead for yourself. Indeed, it is quite distress- 
ing, yet hardly more than I expected ; although I had 
hoped to be mistaken.” 

She gave the paper into Valerie’s hands, and she 
glanced at it. 

“ The London paper !” she commented, in surprise. 

“ Quite, true — Elwood receives it daily ; but look at 
that.” Lady Thoresby indicated a paragraph near the 
top of the page, where was conspicuously printed these 
words : 

Betrothed.— The Duke of Ellesmere aud Lady Maud Dancourt, 
daughter of the Earl of Southwolde, 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


221 


Valerie gave a cry of surprise and sprang up to a 
sitting posture. “ 

‘‘For sliame !” slie exclaimed. ‘‘I had believed 
better of Lady Maud, even though I had suspected 
this. I see the truth at last : She has basely deceived 
Elwood ; and the quarrel was a mere trick to delude 
him.” 

“ But we do not know the exact circumstances,” said 
Lady Thoresby. 

“ Perhaps not, but the betrothal between Elwood 
and Lady Maud should have been as sacred as though 
they had made it themselves. Elwood loved her, I 
am quite sure.” 

“ He did indeed,” agreed Lady Thoresby, with a 
sigh of regret. 

“ And she is marrying the Duke of Ellesmere solely 
for his title and his money — I am convinced of that,” 
said Valerie, decisively, as she glanced down again at 
the paper in her hand. “ See, Eita ! a whole column 
is devoted to the wealth and position of the Duke and 
the beauty and high connections of Lady Maud. It is 
a case of buy and sell, I would stake — ” 

“ Well,” as she hesitated, “ what would you stake 
upon it, Valerie ?” 

‘‘ Captain Brunell,” she replied, rising to her feet 
and walking over to the grate, where a low fire was 
burning. “ Upon my word” — seriously — I would do 
it and have no fear of losing him.” 

Lady Thoresby smiled in spite of her trouble. 

‘‘ I dare say the Captain would not like the wager,” 
she said. “ Has Elwood seen this article ?” 

“ I presume not. He hasn’t been down this morn- 
ing. There was no sleep for any one at Castle Lorna 


222 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

last night. I am tired out, myself. I hardly know 
what to think of Izma” — gazing gloomily into the 
fire. 

“It is very strange,” confessed Lady Thoresby, the 
worried expression returning to her face. “ 1 suppose 
you know that Lord Thoresby has gone out in search 
of them.” 

“ Yes ; but will he find them ?” said Yalerie, with a 
slight shrug of her shoulders. “ Lord Dancourt was 
to leave Castle Lorna to-day — perhaps Izma has gone 
with him.” 

Lady Thoresby shook her head. 

“ That won’t do, my dear,” she replied. “ Neither 
of them made the least preparation for a journey ; 
yet” — rather doubtfully — “if we hear nothing from 
them to-day, perhaps it will be best to telegraph to 
Merivale.” 

“ I am convinced that something is seriously wrong, 
Eita.” 

“ Don’t say it, Yalerie” — nervously ; “ for if any- 
thing has happened to Izma, I shall in some way feel 
responsible for it, as she was here in my care.” 

“We can only wait, and try to be patient,” said 
Yalerie ; “ but I never was the sort of person to bear 
suspense.” 

The opening of the door at that moment caused both 
to look up and cease speaking. 

It was Lord Charleroy that entered. 

“ Good morning,” he said, looking from one to the 
other. “ Have you heard from the runaways ?” 

“ Not a word, Elwood,” replied Lady Thoresby. 
Isn’t it dreadful ?” 


IZMA; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


223 


I liave heard of worse things, sis, but I’ll admit 
that it is rather annoying.” 

“ Annoying ! Only that, when none of us slept a 
wink all night,” reproved Valerie. 

Lord Charleroy smiled and picked up the paper 
that Valerie, before his entrance, had thrown down. 
Lady Thoresby and- her niece exchanged uneasy 
glances. 

“ It isn’t the first elopement that /ever heard of,” he 
replied, drawing his chair up near the fire and seating 
himself comfortably ; “ and besides, you know” — turn- 
ning the paper over, and glancing down tlie columns — 
“ ‘ What can’t be cured must be endured.’ ” 

“ Then you think they are really married,” said Lady 
Thoresby, hopefully. 

“ If they are not, they ought — yes, I’m quite sure 
they are married, Eita.” 

“ Then why don’t they return to Castle Lorna, my 
lord ?” inquired Valerie, sarcastically. 

“ Perhaps they desire to spend a secret honeymoon, 
Val,” he replied absently, without raising his eyes 
from the paper. 

“ Then it is downright mean of them !” she ex- 
claimed, striking her foot against the brass fender with 
such force as to cause both Lord Charleroy and Lady 
Thoresby to start. 

“ Pray calm yourself,” said Lord Charleroy, quietly. 

“ I Won’t!” she retorted. “ What’s the use in being 
calm, as you call it, Avhen one is half distracted?” 

“ Don’t you see I am reading?” 

“ Don’t you see I am talking angrily. 

There 1” said Lady Thoresby, rising and coming 
between them. “ Let u§ walk out on the terrace, 


224 IZMA 5 OR, SUNSHTl^E AND SHADO'Vif. 

Yalerie, and watcli for Lord Thoresby’s return. He 
may bring us good news of Archie and Izma.” 

“ Yes, for pity’s sake let us go somewhere away from 
here,” she consented, bestowing a withering glance 
upon Lord Chatleroy, which was Entirely wasted, as he 
was intent upon the news-columns again. Not con- 
tent, however, at having her remark unnoticed, she 
looked back when she reached the door and added : 
“ You are a perfect 5mr, Elwood Charleroy. You’ve 
never been like yourself since you were taken sick at 
Eloradene.” 

Then “ bang ” went the door, catching the train of 
Lady Thoresby’s skirt and compelling her to reopen 
it. As she did so. Lord Charleroy called to her, and 
she turned back into the room. 

“ I say, Kita, weddings seem to be quite thing at 
present,” he remarked with bitter irony. 

Lady Thoresby looked at him for a moment in sur- 
prise. His face was decidedly paler, and at first she 
could not understand. Then he held the paper out to 
her which he had been reading, and she started. 

“ Perhaps it will interest you to know that Lady 
Maud Dancourt is to be married to the Duke of Elles- 
mere,” he said. 

She looked at him for a moment with an expression 
of pity ; then going up behind him, she bent over and 
dropped a tender kiss upon his forehead. 

“ I have seen it,” she replied ; “ but I would hot care, 
dear. She is false and unworthy of your love. Better 
for the Duke of Ellesmere to have her.” 

Lord Charleroy pushed her away, not roughly, but 
decidedly. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


225 


“ I need no sympathy,” he said in a stifled voice. 
“ She was never mine.” 

‘‘But, Elwood — ” 

“ No ; leave me now. I would rather be alone.” 

And knowing by the expression of his face that ho 
meant it. Lady Thoresby went in silence, yet feeling 
that his heart was stabbed to the core. 

It was indeed the most bitter moment of Lord 
Charleroy’s life. True, he had been warned of it — 
he had expected it ; yet the pain was sharper than he 
had even imagined when it came. 

It had been enough to hear from another’s lips that 
Lady Maud would marry the Duke of Ellesmere ; but 
to see their names together in public print, to read her 
praises all for another man, to feel in his heart that 
she was selling herself for this man’s princely fortune 
and his title, which he himself could never have given 
her, seemed more than he could bear. On the other 
hand, it gave him no comfort to think that perhaps for 
love alone she had chosen the Duke of Ellesmere. 
It was even worse then believing her false and shallow- 
hearted. 

He had tried hard to resign himself to the situa- 
tion ; but the lesson of endurance was the most difiicult 
task that had ever been given him to learn. 

He could not forget Lady Maud. 

It had been easy enough to remain away from her 
and think of another winning her when there had been 
only a boyish fancy for her or his heart — when he had 
remembered her only as a beautiful child who had 
charmed him both as a sweetheart and playfellow in 
his youth ; but the passion of a man, the memory of 


226 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

a fair woman, was not so easily lived down. Day and 
niglit tlie vision of her face v/as before him. 

But now, he thought, she would soon be the Duchess 
of Ellesmere. How dare he think of her then ! She 
would soon be the wife of another, with the fashion- 
able world at her feet. 

rioradene and its master, who had once presumed 
to win her, would only be remembered with the feel- 
ing of scorn that sometimes comes to us of the past. 

Lord Charleroy sprang to his feet and paced the 
floor with agitated steps. 

“ Weak fool !” he cried contemptuously, striking his 
hands together. ‘‘ A madman would surely have more 
reason than this. Why should I not forget her just 
as she has forgotten me ? Why these sleepless nights 
and restless days for a woman who has never wasted 
a tender thought on me ? Ha, ha ! it is the way of the 
wiseacre. No wonder that he has never found favor 
in my lady’s eyes.” 

So occupied was Lord Charleroy with his own trou- 
ble that he entirely forgot Izma and Lord Dancourt. 
He did not know how time was passing until suddenly 
he heard voices outside in the hall, and looking up at 
the clock he saw that it was exactly one hour past 
noon. He stopped and listened. The voices drew 
nearer, and the words spoken became more distinct. 
Several seemed endeavoring to be heard at once ; but 
above them all, he recognized Valerie’s tone. 

“ Married !” she gulped. “ Just as they all sus- 
pected. But I wouldn’t have thought it of you^ Izma, 
when I pleaded with you, too, to — to — there ; 3^ou 
needn’t look at me with that warning glance” — tear- 
fully — “ it is no use now to conceal anything. I didn’t 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


227 


expect any better of Lord Dancourt ; but you — oh, it 
was too much to run away and frighten us all to 
death, and not let me, your best friend, know a thing 
about it !” 

And then she gave way to her feelings, and her 
emotion spent itself in a violent burst of tears. 

“ The culprits at last !” said Lord Charleroy, with a 
sigh of relief ; and going to the door, he opened it and 
looked out. 

Lord Dancourt, Izma, Lady Thoresby, and Yalerie 
stood there in a little group in the hall. None of them 
looked very happy — not even the bride and bridegroom 
themselves. Lord Chrleroy was surprised to see how 
pale Izma was, and there was not the shadow of a 
smile on her face. She looked extremely unlike the 
pleased and blushing young wife that one might have 
expected. 

“ Something wrong here,” was Lord Charleroy’s 
mental comment ; but refraining from thus expressing 
himself, he opened the door wide and blew out a pro- 
longed whistle. Archie was the first to look towards 
him ; and as he caught the smile on Lord Charleroy’s 
face, he flushed consciously. 

“ It is true, Elwood,” Yalerie sobbed out as soon as 
she obtained a glimpse of him. “They are married.'' 

“ So I observe,” replied Lord Charleroy, dryly. 

“ But wasn’t it unkind of them ?” said Yalerie. 

“ Yery. But let the Benedict speak for himself. I 
say, Dancourt, how did it happen ?” 

“ Like all other marriages, I suppose,” replied 
Archie, a trifle stiffly. 

“ Of course it did,” Lady Thoresby spoke up, having 
just recovered her composure. “ I think it very un- 


228 izMA ; OR, suNsnixE and shadow. 

kind of you not to congratulate tliem. I am gratified 
that it is no worse. They might have been dead — both 
of them.” 

She did not dream how near death they had been ; 
but going up to Izma, she threw her arms around her 
and kissed her gladly. 

“ My dear, you are cold and trembling !” she ex- 
claimed in surprise. “ Come into the library and 
warm yourself. I wonder that we are so unthought- 
ful.” And sajdng this, she led her into the room, and 
wheeling a chair up near the fire, placed her in it. 

Lord Dancourt and Valerie followed ; and Lord 
Charleroy turned back into the room, going up to Izma, 
with a smile, and extending his hand. 

“ May your life be long and prosperous. Lady Dan- 
court,” he said. 

She started at the sound of the name, and tried hard 
to smile, but the attempt proved a failure. 

‘‘As for you, Dancourt,” he continued, turning to 
Archie, who was anything but his natural, light-hearted 
self, “ you are the luckiest fellow on this side of the 
continent. Your life could not have a fairer prospect 
than with Izma Alvarez for your wife.” 

“ I am convinced of that,” said Archie, with more 
bitterness than warmth. And Valerie, who was watch- 
ing them curiously, thought it very strange that Izma 
would not raise her eyes or return the beseeching 
glance he gave her. 

What a constraint there was between them, she 
thought, forgetting in her wonder to further upbraid 
them. Lady Thoresby herself began to notice it ; but 
believed that embarrassment alone w'as the cause of 
Izma’s silence. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


229 


“You certainly stole a march on ns, Archie,” she 
said, laughing. “ Why didn’t yon give us a hint of it ? 
I hardly believe Izma herself knew that yon were go- 
ing to spirit her away.” 

Lord Danconrt laughed nervously. 

“Well — er — it was rather sudden, you know,” he 
repliedo 

“ Ah ! I see. You gained her consent all at once, 
and took her at her word” — with a roguish glance at 
Izma. 

“ Ye — es, something like that ” — hesitatingly. 

“How selfish of you to take her away from us!” 
with reproach. 

“ I really couldn’t help it. Lady Thoresby,” said 
Archie, so earnestly that they all laughed-except Izma, 
who each moment was growing more uncomfortable 
and distressed. 

“But if you had only come back as soon as you 
were married, you might have saved us all this alarm,” 
said Valerie. 

“ It was so late that we thought it best to wait until 
morning,” Archie replied, with a dubious glance at his 
bride’s averted face. 

“ Promise that you will not leave Castle Lorna for 
a long time, then ; and I will forgive you,” agreed 
Valerie. 

Izma looked up, and rising to her feet, spoke for the 
first time. 

“We cannot, Valerie,” she said quickly. “Lord 
Dancourt had arranged to leave Castle Lorna to-day, 
and we must do so. If you will excuse me, I will go 
to my room and make preparations for my departure 
at once. My lord ” — to Archie, who was regarding her 


230 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

with something like amazement — “ I will see you alone 
in the drawing-room an hour hence.” And then, to 
the wonder of those present, she sw^ept from the apart- 
ment, leaving Lord Dancourt in doubt as to whether 
he was mad or dreaming, or whether indeed Izma 
had decided to accompany him to Merivale as his 
wife. 


CHAPTEE XXYIII. 
izma’& decision. 

It was not surprising that Lord Dancourt knew 
nothing of Izma’s intentions for the future, as since 
their marriage at the old chapel that morning she had 
not spoken to him. They had returned to Castle 
Lorna in the rector’s carryall, which he had kindly 
offered them ; and all the way Izma had leaned back 
in the farthest corner of the seat, with her eyes averted 
and her lips tightly closed. Archie had glanced at 
her several times in the hope that she would relent 
and say something ; but seeing that she had no inten- 
tion of doing so, he settled himself comfortably and 
gave himself up to dissatisfactory thoughts. Thus 
they reached Castle Lorna — perhaps the most reserved 
pair that was ever newly wedded at the altar ; yet in 
the heart of Lord Dancourt there was doubtless a 
faint hope that soon or later their future might be 
amicably settled. Izma was his wife — there was no 
disputing it — and he could not believe that she would 
entirely ignore this fact, even though the sacred tie had 
been forced upon her. Therefore, it was not strange 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 231 

that lie sliould be eager to hear what she would have 
to say to him. 

Before the appointed hour was at hand, he was rest- 
lessly pacing the floor of the drawing-room, one mo- 
ment wishing that he had never come to Castle Lorna, 
the next moment- retracting it and feeling that no pain 
was too great to endure if he could only win the re- 
gard of the woman he had married. 

He turned with a quick start when the door opened 
and Izma, very pale but with a determined look on 
her face, entered the room. 

He placed a chair for her, and in silence she took 
it. He waited a moment for her to speak ; but as she 
seemed disinclined to do so, he seated himself oppo- 
site her and, after a slight pause, said : 

“ You desired to speak to me, I believe.” 

She looked up and gave him a cold glance. 

“ I did, Lord Dancourt,” she replied, her fingers 
tightening around the arms of the chair. “ I think it 
best that we should understand each other.” 

“ A very wise decision,” he assented, with a nod of 
his head. 

“ This unfortunate marriage^” she continued delib- 
erately, is of course to be regretted ; but since it has 
been forced upon us, the farce might as Tvell be kept 
up — until we leave Castle Lorna.” 

Archie started imperceptibly. 

“Until we leave Castle Lorna!” he repeated slowly. 
“ What do you intend to do then ?” 

“ Go my own way. Lord Dancourt, the same as if 
the ceremony in the chapel this morning had never 
been performed.” 

His heart gave a bound of disappointment, and the 


232 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

hope that he had cherished died within his breast, 
but outwardly he was very calm. 

“ I should consider that a very unwise proceeding,” 
he said. “ The marriage cannot be kept a secret now, 
that every one at Castle Lorna knows of it. You 
might as well explain the whole truth before you 
leave here. There is no need of concealment from 
any one if we must part.” 

She looked at him half angrily. 

“ What is it to you ?” she demanded. You have 
accomplished your desire — you have saved Merivale 
by your strategem — what matters the rest of it?” 

He looked at her blankly. 

“ I do not understand you,” he said. 

“ Ha ! do you not ?” she laughed scornfully. ‘‘ I 
pity your ignorance, indeed I do ; but rest assured, 
my lord, that Izma Alvarez is not so blind that she 
does not see the trap she was caught in.” 

‘‘What are you talking about?” he asked in a per- 
plexed tone. 

“ Bah ! Do you think I will condescend to explain. 
Lord Dancourt, when you know my meaning as well 
as I know it myself?” 

“ But I insist upon it,” he persisted anxiously. 

“Insist as much as you like,” she retorted, with a 
shrug of her shoulders. ' “ Your pretended ignorance 
does not deceive me. You came to Castle Lorna to 
carry out a scheme that you had planned for the re- 
demption of Southwolde ; and it has succeeded. I 
repeat that you should be satisfied.” 

Archie sprang to his feet. 

“You must be mad!” he cried. “A scheme to re- 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


233 


deem Soiithwolde ! Lady Dancourt ” — with an in- 
credulous laugh — “ you surely rave.” 

“ Granted, then, that I rave,” she replied coolly 
without raising her eyes to his face. “ But, after all, 
this is not the point I came here to discuss : I wish to 
tell you of my plans. Lord Dancourt ; so that there 
may be no awkward blunder.” Here she rose to her 
feet and stood with her hand resting on the back of 
the chair. “ I will leave Castle Lorna with you to-day 
— this evening ; but I will return to Lane Parle.'" 

Archie stared at her but made no response. 

“ From there,” she continued, “ I will take my de- 
parture for Spain a few weeks hence. Thus, neither 
of us will be troubled with each other. We will not 
be inconvenienced by the fact that we are — husband 
and wife.” 

Archie had paled, but his voice was very quiet when 
he spoke. 

“What will people say of this?” he asked. 

“ Anything they like,” she replied. “ I shall not be 
responsible.” 

“ But I object to it, my lady,” he said firmly. 

“ That will hardly prevent it,” scornfully. 

“For the sake of my own name, you shall not 
do this,” he declared with considerable warmth. 
“ Whether you despise me or not. Lady Dancourt, 
you must return with me to Merivale." 

Izma drew herself up haughtily. 

“ What manner of force do you propose to use, my 
lord ?” she asked derisively. 

“I shall appeal to your reason,” he said more 
calmly. “I do not mean to take you against your 
will,” 


234 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“Perhaps not,” she replied significantly. “It 
would be quite hazardous, I assure you.” 

Lord Dancourt strode up and down the room several 
times before speaking again. At length he stopped 
before her and said entreatingly : 

“ You are my wife, Izma. Why not make the best 
of it?” 

He saw her start and quiver. 

“ There is no best,” she replied, turning away from 
him. “ I have already outraged the dead.” 

“Why must you always harp on the dead?” he ex- 
claimed impatiently. “ It is folly.” 

“ We are wasting time,” she said coldly, turning to- 
ward the door. “We must leave Castle Lorna by six.” 

Archie followed in her steps. 

“ You must not go until you have heard me,” he 
said, reaching the door ahead of her and standing 
with his back against it. “I tell you we must not 
part when we have reached England. It will never 
do. You have allowed me to acknowledge you as my 
wife here at Castle Lorna ; and what will be said if we 
separate a few days hence ? It will cause a scandal. 
Lady Dancourt. You should be wise enouuh to see 
that.” 

He paused, but Izma was silent. 

“ I should not mind it for myself alone,” he con- 
tinued ; “ but the name of those I love must not suffer. 
If you have any reason, you will come with me to 
Merivale.” 

“ I have no reason in this, my lord,” she replied 
stoutly. 

“ But listen to me,” he pleaded. “ I will not trouble 
you if you come. We may live apart the same as if 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 235 

one roof did not shelter us. We will sometimes meet, 
but it will be as strangers. Our lives may be as sepa- 
rate as it pleases you ; but it is best that you should 
come to Merivale simply for the eyes of the world.” 

“ Let me think,” she replied huskily, leaving the 
door and walking over to the window. “ Give me time 
to decide.” 

“As much as you like,” he granted, looking at his 
watch. “It is yet three hours before we leave Castle 
Lorna.” Saying this, he went over to the chair that 
he had left and reseated himself, leaning his head 
wearily on his hand and gazing gloomily down at the 
carpet. 

For perhaps fifteen minutes the musical tick of the 
little buhl clock on the mantel was all that broke the 
silence. Archie had begun to grow restless, when 
Izma turned from the window and came towards him. 
She was very pale, and she seemed to be exerting her- 
self to appear calm. She looked at him a moment 
without speaking, then her lips twitched, and the 
words she spoke seemed each to cost her a sharp pang. 

“ Under the consideration which you have named, 
— that we are to live apart, — I will go with you to 
Merivale,” she said. 

Archie rose to his feet and bowed stiffly. 

“Thank you,” he replied simply. And a moment 

later he was alone with his thoughts. 

****** 

Six o’clock had chimed forth from every timepiece 
at Castle Lorna, and the carriage that was to bear 
Lord and Lady Dancourt away stood in readiness at 
the entrance. Valerie, who had forgiven Izma every- 
thing, had wept the whole of the afternoon, refusing 


236 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

to assist with the packing, and saying that she would 
do nothing to help Izma away. She had pleaded that 
they remain “ just one week longer but her request 
was of course not granted, and in tones that were 
hardly gentle she reproved Lord Dancourt for taking 
Izma from them. 

Her grief burst out afresh when the time came for 
starting, and Izma herself, whose heart was sore, 
dropped a few tears on Valerie’s shoulder when they 
bade each other farewell. 

Lady Thoresby, and even Lord Thoresby, who had 
returned several hours before after a fruitless search, 
were sorry to part with the fair girl whom they had 
learned to love ; for in their hearts they felt that she 
was not happy. There was a wistful look in her dark 
eyes that haunted them even after she was gone. 
They saw, too, that the color in her cheeks was not so 
bright as it had been ; yet neither of them spoke of it, 
for both believed that perhaps it was only a fancy. 

Lord Dancourt himself was more grave than usual ; 
and as he handed his bride into the carriage and took 
his seat beside her, Valerie looked at them with the 
wonder she had felt once before. Were all brides and 
bridegrooms so cold to each other? would Captain 
Brunell be the same to her ? she thought. If so, she 
felt that it would be impossible to enjoy her married 
life. 

She watched them with tears in her eyes, as the 
carriage rolled from sight ; and the last she saw of 
them was Izma’s sw^eet face looking back through the 
window, with a sad smile. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADO 


237 


CHAPTEK XXIX. 

A COLD RECEPTION. 

Lady Maud sat alone in her own room at Merivale, 
reflecting upon the painful events of the past. A 
short time ago she had been a happy, hopeful girl, free 
from all thought of sorrow ; and now she was the be- 
trothed wife of the Duke of Ellesmere and the most 
miserable woman to be found anywhere. 

Before the Christmas bells were chiming, she would 
be married to a man whom her very heart abhorred. 
It was enough, she thought, to drive her mad ; and 
sometimes she believed indeed that her reason was 
deserting her. It was after her meetings with her 
future husband that her heart cried out most to be 
freed from his bondage. Each time that he came to 
Merivale, the trial which she was forced to endure in 
not openly showing her dislike for him seemed greater 
than the last ; and she wondered what it would be 
when she came to spend her life with him. 

But he had now returned to London for a while, 
and she would at least have a week’s respite between 
each visit before the time that she was to stand with 
him at the altar. She was glad of this ; for even though 
his letters came to her each day, and she was com- 
pelled to sometimes answer them, it was far easier to 
endure than his wearisome presence. 

She knew that their betrothal had been published ; 
and when bitter tears had sprung to her eyes at sight 
of it, she dashed them away, feeling a little thrill of 


238 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


triumpli, in spite of her pain, that Lord Charleroy, 
who had slighted her love, and Izma Alvarez, who had 
hoped to triumph over her, would see this column 
which told of the brilliant future that opened up be- 
fore her. As much as she despised it, there was just 
the least consolation in this thought. 

Yet soon enough her misery outweighed her tri- 
umph. Often she would declare to herself that she 
hated Elwood Charleroy ; but even as she said it, she 
knew she was speaking falsely. Believing him base 
and unworthy, she still loved him. 

Sitting there in her room, with that pensive shadow 
upon her face, she thought how well these lines be- 
fitted her : 

“ But bitter, bitter are the tears 

Of her who slighted love bewails. 

No hope her dreary prospect cheers, 

No pleasing melancholy hails. 

Hers are the pangs of wounded pride. 

Of blasted hope, of withered joy. 

The prop she leaned on pierced her side ; 

The flame she fed burns to destroy." 

Would this mad passion in her breast ever die ? she 
thought. It must. She had betrothed herself to the 
Duke of Ellesmere ; he was to save Southwolde, and 
it was her duty to be true to him. 

“ My dear, may I come in ?” 

Her mother’s voice from the doorway interrupted 
her reflections ; and she looked up, with a start. 

“Of course,” she replied ; “I am quite alone.” 

Lady Southwolde had not looked better for years 
than she was looking now. The lines of care had van- 
ished from her face, and the uneasy, unhappy expres- 
sion had left her eyes. The dread of ruin was no 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 239 

longer upon her ; her fear of poverty and disgrace had 
ceased to oppress her. They were saved, though at 
the cost of Lady Maud’s happiness. 

The latter, however, after the first terrible outburst 
of grief, had borne herself so well, and seemed so re- 
signed to the fate in store for her, that the Countess 
seldom troubled herself as to whether it was a mar- 
riage of love or not, and even the Earl, who in the be- 
ginning had felt tempted to lose all rather than spoil 
the happiness of his daughter’s future life, was now 
satisfied with the result that had been brought about. 

“ I have come to consult you about your tromseau, 
my love,” said Lady Southwolde, drawing her chair 
up near Lady Maud’s. 

“ But, mother, I have almost two months yet,” ob- 
jected Lady Maud, in a displeased tone. 

“ And what are two months for the preparations of 
as grand a wedding as the future Duchess of Elles- 
mere must have ?” said the Countess. “ I intend that 
the Duke shall not be ashamed of you.” 

But Lady Maud refused to take any part in it. 

“ Arrange it alb yourself,” she said. “ Weddings 
are such tiresome things, it makes me ill to think of 
it. Have it over with as soon as you like — I shall not 
care.” 

The Countess was disappointed, but she thought 
best to humor Lady Maud. She rose to leave the 
room ; but as she moved toward the door, a knock on 
the outside startled her. She opened it, and upon 
the threshold stood a servant with a rather excited 
face. 

“Your ladyship,” she said quickly, “Lord. Dan- 
Qourt is in the drawing-room, with his wife.” 


240 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


Lady Soutliwolde retreated, with a little scream. 

“His ivifeV she exclaimed. “What do you 
mean?” 

Lady Mand sprang to her feet and came to the 
door. 

“ What is it, mother?” she asked. 

“ Hear the girl,” said the Countess, in a gasping 
voice. “I think she has gone mad.” 

“ No, my lady ; it is true,” the girl persisted. “ I 
saw her with my own eyes ; and she is the prettiest 
creature I ever looked at. Lord Dancourt says : ‘ Tell 
mother I am here with my wife and I don’t think 
there’s any mistake, ma’am.” 

Lady Maud looked at her mother apprehensively. 

“ There must be something in it,” she said. “ Per- 
haps we had best go down.” 

“ You may leave us,” the Countess said to the ser- 
vant. And as soon as the door had closed, she reeled 
to the nearest chair and sank into it, placing her hand 
to her heart. “What are we to think?” she gasped. 
“ Who can it be ?” 

Lady Maud shook her head. 

“It is hard to tell what freak has possessed 
Archie,” she said. “ Let us go to the drawing-room 
and meet them. It is the only way to satisfy our- 
selves.” 

But it was some time before the Countess could 
calm herself. The shock had unnerved her. It 
seemed incredible that her son should marry thus, 
without consulting any one. She was quite sure that 
he had chosen unwisely. 

Neither the Countess or Lady Maud had any dream 
of whom the bride was. The former, in spite of her 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


241 


distress, would not go down until slie had put a few 
touches to her toilet. 

The drawing-room was dark ; and when they first 
entered, they saw no one but Archie, who advanced to 
meet them with extended hand. 

Lady Southwolde looked at him severely. 

“How you have changed !” she exclaimed in sur- 
prise. “ You look far worse than when you left Meri- 
vale. Have you been ill ?” 

Lord Dancourt assured her that he had been quite 
well ; and looking toward the window, where a dark 
figure sat half concealed behind the heavy curtains, 
he said : 

“ Allow me to introduce you, mother and Maud, to 
Lady Dancourt, my — wife.” He seemed to hesitate 
over the latter word. 

Izma rose to her feet and advanced a step towards 
them. The light through the parted curtains now fell 
upon her face ; and Lady Maud drew back with a 
startled cry. 

“ Izma Alvarez /” she exclaimed in amazement. 
“ Great heaven ! is this your wife?” 

“ It is,” replied Archie, with a warning look, which, 
however, did not suppress the gasp that fell from 
Lady Southwolde’s lips. 

“ My son — my son,” she began in horror, but an- 
other look from Lord Dancourt as black as night si- 
lenced her. 

“This is Lady Dancourt,” he repeated in such a 
meaning tone that the Countess held out her trem- 
bling hand to her. 

“ It is indeed a — a surprise to us,” she said, en- 
tirely forgetting her well-bred composure. 


242 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“ Is it possible !” replied Izma, coldly, a peculiar 
smile of scorn on her lips as she gave her the tips of 
her gloved fingers. I had believed that you might 
be prepared for it.” 

“ One is never prepared for a thing of this sort,” 
said Lady Maud, significantly, recovering from her as- 
tonishment. 

Izma looked at her for a moment closely, as if meas- 
uring her strength against hers; then she said, with a 
little nod which had a world of meaning in it : 

“ I believe that you and I have met before. Lady 
Maud. I am glad ; for we can better understand each 
other.” 

Lord Dancourt, who saw an impending volcano in 
Lady Maud’s eyes, at this moment came to the rescue. 

“Where is father?” he asked in a curt tone that 
showed plainly his displeasure. 

“ He has gone to look after some of the tenantry,” 
the Countess replied. 

“ Will he return soon?” 

“ Not until dark, I presume.” 

“ Then I think Lady Dancourt had best be shown 
to her apartments,” said Archie, firmly. “ The jour- 
ney from Castle Lorna has naturally wearied her.” 

The Countess knew what was expected of her ; but 
she bit hef lip with vexation, and hesitated. 

“Mother, will you show Lady Dancourt to her 
rooms ?” asked Archie, in a slightly raised voice. 

Without replying. Lady Southwolde turned haught- 
ily and bade Izma follow her. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


243 


CHAPTEE XXX. 

A DIARY LEAF. 

The Earl of Soutliwolde could not have been more 
astonished than when he returned to Merivale and 
learned that his son had married Izma Alvarez ; yet 
he was not so wroth as the Countess had expected. 
She believed that now, since Lady Maud was betrothed 
to the Duke of Ellesmere, and there was no longer 
danger of losing Southwolde, it would be greatly 
against his wishes to see the daughter of Eenzo Alvarez 
Lord Dancourt’s wife. And though it might have 
been less desirable to him than several weeks ago, he 
was very ready to send for Archie and grasp him by 
the hand. 

“ You have done well, my son,” he said. “ Izma 
will make a good Countess of Southwolde. Be kind 
to her and atone for your father’s sin. Make her a 
worthy husband, Archie ; and don’t mind what others 
say.” 

But when he saw the bitter smile that curved Lord 
Dancourt’s lips, he looked at him in surprise. 

“ This marriage ought surely to make you happy,” 
he said earnestly. “ A man should be content if he 
weds the woman he loves.” 

“But if the woman he weds does not love him, 
father, it is hardly possible to know happiness,” Archie 
replied. “ Izma is my wife, but in name only. The 
marriage was much against her will.” 


244 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“ Explain yourself,” bade the Earl, in astonishment. 
‘‘How could you have married her against her will?” 

Archie drew a prolonged sigh, and, seating, himself 
proceeded to relate the painful circumstances that had 
brought the marriage about. The Earl heard him 
through in wondering silence ; and even after he had 
ceased speaking, it was several moments before the 
quiet was broken. Was it the Hand of Providence 
that had done this ? Why was it ? He thought of 
Lady Maud. Could it be to save her from an unhappy 
marriage with the Duke of Ellesmere ? 

“ This is extraordinary,” he said at length. “ But 
why did she consent to come to Merivale ? She can- 
not be indifferent to you.” 

Archie shook his head slowly. 

“I besought her to come,” he replied. “I did not 
wish the world to know.” 

“That was right,” approved the Earl ; “for perhaps 
in time all will be well.” 

“Never,” said Archie, hopelessly. “ She is too bit- 
ter against the Dancourts.” 

“ Time can work wonders, my son. I will help you 
to make Merivale pleasant for her.” 

“ Will you, father ? It is very kind of you,” said 
Archie, rising and grasping the Earl’s hand, with grat- 
itude. “If we could only make her know that the 
Dancourts are friends to her instead of enemies.” 

“If it was not for that other — has she told you 
of our misfortune?” the Earl asked suddenly, growing 
slightly nervous. 

“ What misfortune?” exclaimed Archie, in surprise. 

“ Why, about the loan and Southwolde, of course. 
You know — ” 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


245 


The door opened at that moment, and Lady South- 
wolde, who had been eager to come here for the last 
hour, thinking that something of which she was not 
aware was going on, entered the room, her curiosity 
at last having gained the victory. 

“Ah!” she said, starting as if with surprise; “am 
I interrupting you ?” 

“ No,” replied Archie, turning away. “ We can as 
well speak of this” — to his father — “ at another time.” 

But he pondered much over the Earl’s words. 
What did he mean ? He could not understand ; yet, 
placing Izma’s strange words concerning Southwolde, 
and his father’s, together, he decided that, whatever the 
mystery was, they had both spoken of the same thing. 
Something was wrong, he felt sure of it. He thought 
he would go the very next day and ask an explanation ; 
but the Earl went out again and thus prevented it. 
Though he worried much, he was compelled to wait 
until an opportunity of speaking with him alone pre- 
sented itself. 

Izma was far from happy in her new position at 
Merivale. She wondered at herself the very day after 
her arrival, when she had awakened and found herself 
in the strange, elegant apartments that the Countess 
had assigned her, for allowing herself to be persuaded 
to come here. What a foolish step it had been, she 
thought. She could be nothing else but miserable. 

She arose from her couch and going over to the 
window, parted the curtains and looked out at her 
beautiful surroundings. Never had she thought to 
put her foot inside of Merivale, where the old earl 
that had disowned her mother had lived and died; 
never had she dreamed that she would sleep inside 


246 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


the same walls that had once echoed with Lady 
Adelene’s sweet girlish voice and laughter : and here 
she was, Lady Dancourt, the wife of the heir of 
Southwolde, and some day to be Countess of this vast 
estate. 

She recoiled with a sharp cry as she thought of it. 
How different was this from the revenge that her 
dying father had planned for her, and which she had 
given her oath to take ! 

‘‘Good heaven! what a wretch I am !” she cried, 
sinking to her knees and burying her face in filmy 
lace curtains. “ Why have I done this ? Why have I 
defied all and come here as the wife of Lord Dancourt, 
who married me to save the estate from ruin.” 

She could not account for her own madness. It 
seemed to her now that it was the rashest of all her 
life ; yet she knew not whether to go or stay, since she 
had been foolish enough to come to Merivale. At 
first she thought she would send to Lane Park for 
Nurse Llorenta to come help her in her distress ; 
but she dreaded the displeasure of the Countess of 
Southwolde, whose looks and tones had chilled her the 
evening before. Everything was so cold and strange 
about her that she trembled like a shrinking child, in 
fear. 

Lady Maud could not have treated her with prouder 
indifference. The Earl, however, was wonderfully 
kind ; and Lord Dancourt, though not loving, was very 
polite to her. It was evident that he meant to keep 
his promise — that they should live as strangers. 

• Her first day at Merivale was among the most un- 
happy she had ever spent, nor was the second or the 
third any better. She was left almost entirely alone ; 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 247 

yet slie preferred this to the society of either the 
Countess or Lady Maud. Lady Maud made no pre- 
tence of concealing her dislike for her ; yet in spite of 
this, the more Izma saw of her the better she was im- 
pressed with her character. She saw that though she 
was cold and proud, there was not in her nature the 
least deceit or untruthfulness. She was exactly what 
she appeared to be, without either touch or finish. 

Under other circumstances, they might have liked 
each other, but Lady Maud could not forget that 
through Izma had come the trouble that was to mar 
her whole life. If she had only waited with them, 
they might have saved Southwolde without sacrificing 
herself to the Duke of Ellesmere, she thought ; but 
now it was too late, — she was already betrothed, and 
could not break her word, — and after all, there had 
been no need of the sacrifice. 

She was bitter against the woman whom she blamed 
of robbing her of her happiness. She did not want 
her at Merivale, and she took no pains to keep her in 
ignorance of the fact. 

She had heard the circumstances of the marriage — 
for the Earl did not keep it from them ; she saw the 
breach between husband and wife, and for even this 
she censured Izma. The Countess too was inwardly 
indignant over the state of affairs. Even the servants, 
she declared to the Earl, would at length begin to 
talk. Was Archie mad that he had persuaded the girl 
to come to Merivale? 

Perhaps another fear was in Lady Southwolde’s 
heart. Now that the marriage between Lord Dan- 
court and Izma Alvarez would save Southwolde, would 
Lady Maud keep her troth with the Duke of Elies- 


248 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

mere ? She dreaded to speak of it ; yet the thought 
troubled her greatly. 

Archie’s marriage was a bitter disappointment to 
her ; for all her scheming to save him from it had been 
in vain. Just when she was flushed with the hope of 
success, the blow had fallen, and she knew not how 
disastrously it would terminate. She felt that if Lady 
Maud now refused to be Duchess of Ellesmere, all de- 
sire in life would be at an end. 

In the mean time, Izma’s mind was not idle. Even 
this soon she began to think of leaving Merivale : 
for she saw that she could not bear this life. It was 
harder than she had thought, to live beneath the same 
roof with her husband, as strangers ; and then, she 
could not endure the coldness of the Countess and Lady 
Maud. 

She began to despise Merivale. 

Her only pleasure was her long, solitary walks over 
the spacious grounds and through the woods, where, 
away from all prying eyes, her grief could spend itself. 

One day as she had started from the house on one 
of these rambles, and was making her way toward the 
terrace, something white fluttered from an upper win- 
dow and fell directly at her feet. 

She stooped and picked it up, looking at it in some 
surprise. She saw it to be a closely written sheet, 
apparently torn from a diary. 

She looked up at the window from whence the wind 
had fluttered it, and saw that it had come from Lady 
Maud’s room. 

She glanced at the paper again. It was written in 
a delicate, feminine hand, and instinctively Izma knew 
that it had been penned by Lady Maud. She started 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 249 

to turn back into the house and restore it to its owner ; 
then, thinking of the coldness with which such an ad- 
vance would be received, she decided to tear it up 
without reading it and scatter it to the winds. She 
was in the act of doing this when something — some 
impulse which she could not understand — seemed to 
hold her back. She hesitated, and looked at the 
writing again, and in this glance she saw the names of 
the Duke of Ellesmere and Lord Charleroy. 

She could never tell what prompted her to read 
what was written there ; for it was wholly unlike her, 
as she was never inquisitive as to other people’s, af- 
fairs. 

The page was dated several weeks back, and began 
thus : 

“ Oh, life, thou art bitter ! Nothing but sorrow, 
heartache, and despair.” 

Izma looked up in astonishment. 

Could this be from the proud Lady Maud? she 
thought. She continued to read, and her amazement' 
increased with each word. 

“ Heaven help me to bear my sorrow,” it ran. 
“ Every hope, every aim in life is gone. My happi- 
ness was this day marred forever when I betrothed 
myself to the Duke of Ellesmere. Southwolde is 
saved, but my heart is broken. Oh, it was a cruel 
sacrifice ! Why was it thus ? Why was my love 
slighted by him that might have saved me ? Oh, the 
unhappy tears that I have shed for Elwood Charleroy ! 
How weak I am, how shameless, to weep for a man 
that does not care for me ; yet even now, as the prom- 
ised wife of another, my foolish heart is aching with 
love for him. What a mockery it will be when I stand 


250 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

at the altar a miserable, bartered bride. I wish I 
might die before then ; I wish I had died before I had 
lost my faith in him that I trusted. O, love, fare- 
well ! This day must I bury you in the ashes of the 
dead past ; but how hard it is to give up all tender 
recollections and begin the new life. My heart grows 
faint and my limbs tremble when I think of the hollow 
position that I am to fill. Life — unhappy life — when 
will you end ?” 

There it closed — this written page from Lady Maud 
Dancourt’s diary, which told of a most unhappy life — 
and Izma looked up with a quick breath and an in- 
voluntary sigh of pity, wondering if she was quite sure 
of what she had read. 

Lady Maud loved Lord Charleroy. She was not the 
shallow, heartless girl that she had imagined her, 
Izma thought. But what had parted them ? Lord 
Charleroy believed her false to him, and she believed 
the same of him ; yet they both loved each other. 

Izma stood there motionless. 

How easy it would be for her to bring them together. 
There in her hand was the proof of Lady Maud’s love, 
and with her own eyes and ears she had learned the 
true state of Lord Charleroy ’s heart while at Castle 
Lorna. If she went to either of them and told them 
the truth, it would be likely to reconcile them and 
amend the broken ties between them. 

She stood there for a long while, thinking deeply. 
Could she so far forget Lady Maud’s coldness and 
unkindness and the past injury of the Daiicourts as to 
return good for evil in this manner ? Having already 
broken her oath to her dying father, and suffered at 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


251 


their hands instead of causing them to suffer, should 
she thus promote the happiness of any one of them ? 

She folded the paper and thrust it into her bosom, 
the old passionate anger flaming up in her heart. 

“ I shall not interfere,” she said between her shut 
teeth. “ Let her go to the altar an unhappy bride. 
It will be my revenge on OTie of them.” 


CHAPTEK XXXI. 

AN OUTRAGED LOVE. 

Lord Dancourt had been at Merivale several days 
before he learned of Lady Maud’s betrothal to the 
Duke of Ellesmere. Every one taking it for granted 
that he knew, no one thought to tell him, until one day 
it chanced to be mentioned in his jiresence by Lady 
South wolde. He was displeased, for never had he de- 
sired it ; and going to the Earl, who for the first time 
since the day after his arrival was in his study alone, 
he said to him : 

“Father, I wonder that you should encourage this 
marriage between Maud and the Duke of Ellesmere. 
I am quite sure she does not like him. Is it 
right to take away her happiness to secure for her 
positioti and wealth ? You are positively selling 
her. If it was possible, I would prevent it. 1 am 
much opposed to these worldly marriages.” 

The Earl, who had been reading at his desk, wheeled 
around in his chair and looked into his son’s earnest 
face. 


252 


IZIIA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


“ Of course you don’t believe in them, and neither 
do I,” he said abruptly ; “ but when a man is ruined, 
he must do something to save himself. I considered 
it a blessing that the Duke wanted Maud for his wife. 
I did not then know that you w^ere to marry Izma 
Alvarez. I had given up all hope.” 

“ If you will explain to me the mystery that seems to 
be attached to everything you say,” replied Archie, 
“ perhaps I will understand you.” 

“ It is strange that Izma did not tell you,” said the 
Earl. 

“ She has spoken of something which I could not 
understand ; but she refused to belive that I did not 
know her meaning.” 

“ Very natural, under the circumstances, I suppose,” 
commented the Earl, clearing his throat. “ She be- 
lieved, of course, that I had told you.” 

“ Yes — go on,” said Lord Dancourt, impatiently. 

The Earl could now with much greater ease than 
hitherto, when he had been in dread of utter ruin, 
relate the story of his imprudence and folly ; yet he 
could not look squarely in his son’s honest eyes, which 
he knew were regarding him with amazement mingled 
with horror. 

He told him all, just as he had told Lady Maud a few 
weeks before ; for he knew that concealment was no 
longer necessary. 

When he had finished the story, he looked up and 
saw that Archie wms pale as death. 

“ I never dreamed of this,” he said hoarsely. 

“ But the danger is now all past, my son,” said the 
Earl, complacently. “ Why do you take it so to heart 
when there is no need of alarm ?” 


IZMA. ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


253 


A discordant laugli burst from Lord Dancourt’s 
lips. 

‘‘ Good lieaven, father !” he exclaimed. “ It is sim- 
ply robbing Izma Alvarez.” 

The Earl looked indignant. 

“Is she not your wife?” he asked. “ Will she not 
some day be sole mistress of the whole estate ? And, 
besides, there is Maud. She will soon be Duchess of 
Ellesmere and able to repay every farthing of the 
mortgage, or double that amount if necessary.” 

Archie rose to his feet, with a determined flash in 
his eyes. 

“ Then she must doit, father,” he said. “ Lady Dan- 
court must either have Southwolde or the money that 
her father loaned.” 

The Earl sprang to his feet in astonishment. 

“ What do you mean?” he cried. 

“ You surely understood me. I do not intend to be 
indebted to the woman who believes that I wilfully 
forced her to become my wife. 

“ But, my son,” said the Earl, in a startled tone. 
“ She knows the circumstances of the marriage be- 
tween you. She cannot blame you.” 

“ Can she not ?” exclaimed Lord Dancourt, with 
bitter sarcasm. “ Perhaps if you had heard her on 
our wedding-day, your opinion would be slightly 
changed. She believes that the marriage was a plot 
— a plan — to save Southwolde. I could not under- 
stand her then, but” — angrily — “ I see at last what a 
wretch she has thought me. My God !” he cried with 
sudden passion, “ and this is all she has given me for 
my love! It would be just to cwrse her.” 

“But, Archie, is it not best to accept the situa- 


•^54 IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

tion?” coaxed the Earl, seeing how excited he had 
grown. “Izma is your wife, and Southwolde is al- 
ready the same as hers.” 

“My wife!” he exclaimed Avith angry vehemence. 
“We would be better apart than to live such a lie as 
we are living. What a fool she must have thought 
me, to beseech her to come here !” 

“You exaggerate matters,” said the Earl, reseating 
himself. 

“That would be impossible,” replied Lord Dan- 
court, harshly, striding up and down the room. 
“ What could be Avorse than the life I must lead Avith 
a loveless wife, who belieA^ed me base and contemp- 
tible ? I persuaded her to come to Merivale ; but I 
shall not persuade her to stay. By heaven 1 if I had 
known the truth, I Avould sooner have leaped from the 
toAver into the bay at Castle Lorna than to have asked 
her to live, even before the Avorld, as my wife. I will 
go- to her and release her from her bondage. She 
may go from Merivale if she likes : I will not say 
aught to prevent it.” 

The Earl saw that he was past all reason. His 
face was Avhite, his eyes Avere Avild, and his lips blood- 
less. It was useless to remonstrate with him. 

He started toAvard the door, and then the Earl 
could no longer be silent. 

“ Do nothing rash, Archie,” he said. “ You may re- 
gret it. Tzma is only a woman.” 

But Lord Dancourt made no reply. He opened the 
door and slammed it behind him ; and the Earl, feeling 
too uneasy to remain sitting where he Avas, rose from 
his chair and folloAved, never dreaming that there had 
been a startled listener to every Avord they uttered. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


255 


CHAPTEE XXXII. 

RELEASED. 

The Earl of Sonthwolde’s study was perhaps as de- 
sirably situated as any room at Merivale. The tall 
windows overlooked the prettiest portion of the ex- 
tensive grounds, and the gravel walk which led from 
the little balcony upon which they opened carried you 
straight into a diminutive flower-garden, where vari- 
ous blossoms lived and flourished all winter. In her 
long walks, Izma frequently left the house and re- 
turned this way, as she could conveniently reach her 
room by a door that led into a rarely used corridor. 
The habit was acquired by her distaste of meeting the 
Countess or Lady Maud when she returned or went 
out ; and it was thus that she made a discovery which 
opened her eyes and startled her beyond measure. 

Her walk had been longer and more tiresome than 
usual. It was growing late when she returned to Meri- 
vale. The clouds looked gray and chilly, and the autumn 
gale tossed the dry leaves hither and thither, kissing 
Izma’s fair cheeks, and coloring them like the heart of 
a crimson rose. She was almost breathless when she 
reached the little balcony upon which the windows of 
the Earl’s study opened ; for all the way back she had 
walked hurriedly and faced the wind. With a long- 
drawn breath, she sank doAvn on the steps and sat there 
for a moment’s rest before entering the house and 
climbing the stairs that led to her room. But scarcely 


256 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


had she seated herself, ere the sound of voices very 
near her reached her ears. She started, and looked 
around her in surprise. 

She saw that one of the windows of the Earl’s study 
was slightly raised, and through it she caught sight 
of a glowing fire and the forms of Lord Southwolde 
and her husband. It was from here that the voices 
came. 

She started to her feet, but as she did so the sound 
of her own name fell upon her ears. She stopped 
and dropped down on the steps again, placing her 
hand over her fluttering heart. What were they say- 
ing of her ? She felt that it was her right to know. 

Every word between the Earl and Lord Dancourt 
was uttered loudly and distinctly. Izma could not 
fail to hear ; and a strange feeling, which she could not 
describe, came over her as she listened. Lord Dan- 
court was innocent — she could hardly credit her own 
ears : he had not known of the mortgage on South- 
wolde ; he had not married her to save the estate, 
there had been no plot, no design to entrap her; — yet 
she had accused him of all this, and believed in his 
guilt. She heard his harsh, angry voice denouncing 
her, crying, “ And this is what she has given me for 
my love !” She looked through the window and saw 
his pale, passionate face and his wild, excited eyes as 
he strode up and down the room and she shrank back, 
trembling and cold, remorse and pity tugging at her 
heart-strings. 

How cruel she , had been ! and all the while he had 
been true and honorable ! How she must have 
wounded him ! yet he had borne it all and been kind 
to her. Did he really love her? 


IZMA ; OR, SITNSHIN-E AND SHADOW. " ' 257 

The question startled her. She sprang to her feet, 
faint and dizzy, and staggered across the balcony. 
She went nearer the window and peered in, her heart 
beating wildly. She looked at the man whose name she 
bore and whose love she had outraged ; and she could 
not tell why the thought of his innocence pleased her. 
How enraged he was at the very thought of such base- 
ness ! Had ever a man been so unjustly judged ? 

He was a gentleman — noble and worthy — and he 
was her husband. 

An odd sensation crept over her ; a thrill so sweet, 
so strange, that it almost took her breath away shot 
through her heart. Dazed, confused, uncertain, she 
turned away from the window and, admitting herself 
into the corridor, groped her way blindly up the stair- 
way to her room. 

But scarcely had she closed the door and thrown 
her hat and wrap aside, ere there was a knock on the 
outside, and she heard her maid calling to her. 

My lady. Lord Dancourt desires your presence in 
the library.” 

Izma could hardly steady her voice as she replied, 
her heart was beating so excitedly. 

“Say to him that I will be down at once,” she 
answered. 

But for several minutes after the maid had turned 
away, she stood there, trembling, frightened, and dread- 
ing for the first time in her life to go into the presence 
of Lord Dancourt. At length she started toward the 
door, but, catching sight of her pale face in the mirror, 
turned back. He would be sure to see her agitation, 
she thought. 

She glanced at herself again.* Her whole appear- 


258 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

ance displeased her ; yet it was the first time she had 
thought of this since she became Lord Dancourt’s 
bride. 

She went to her wardrobe and, pulling down a dress 
of handsome black velvet, hastily donned it. She then 
took from her jewelry-case a magnificent diamond 
crescent, which had been her father’s gift before his 
death, and fastened it in the meshes of her dark hair. 
She was still pale, but a vigorous pinch on each cheek 
caused the color to rush back to them. She looked 
at herself with a half-scornful smile, knowing that the 
change had improved her, yet never dreaming how 
peerlessly beautiful she was. Her swanlike throat, 
rising from the folds of black velvet and lace, looked 
like sculptured marble, and her arms, bare to the 
elbow, were no less perfectly moulded or white. 

She still trembled a little ; but wheeling around, with 
a fiuttering sigh, she went from the room and, with 
unhesitating step, made her way towards the library. 

The door was slightly ajar, and she saw by the 
fiickering firelight on the walls that the lamps had 
not yet been lighted. She pushed the door wide open 
and looked in ; and again that same feeling which she 
had experienced as she peered into the Earl’s -study 
came over her. 

Lord Dancourt was there alone, sitting near the 
grate, with his head bowed dejectedly in his hands. 
He did not hear her as she entered, so deep were his 
thoughts. 

Izma approached him half timidly, and the frou-- 
frou of her skirts caused him to look up with a start. 

She stopped and hesitated, and he stared at her 
with an expression of wonder. Never before had he 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 259 

seen her dressed like this. He had never dreamed of 
anything so beautiful. He almost forget his pain in 
that moment of surprise. 

His gaze embarrassed Izma. She looked down, then 
up again, and, flushing, laughed, a little, nervous laugh, 
saying : 

‘‘Did you not send for me, Lord Dancourt?” 

Archie came back to his senses. 

“Yes,” he replied coldly, “some time ago.” 

She noticed that he did not spring up to ofier her a 
chair as was his wont to do ; but, with less formality 
than usual, she wheeled one near the grate and seated 
herself. 

“How cold it is growing,” she said, with a little 
shiver, as she glanced through the window at the 
darkening clouds and held her white hands out before 
the fire. 

Archie was silent ; he did not even look at her as 
she said this. 

After a moment’s pause, she spoke pgain. “ You do 
not seem well. Lord Dancourt.” 

He smiled bitterly. 

“ I am sick at heart,” he replied. “ Could a man 
have a worse disease. Lady Dancourt?” He glanced 
up into her face, and she moved uneasily. “I am 
tired of this life,” he continued with a sort of reckless- 
ness. “ I could have endured it perhaps until to-day ; 
I might have lived on in foolish hope if I had not 
learned the truth — the miserable truth.” 

Here he stopped and gazed into the fire again, his 
head dropping forward to his breast. 

“Do you know,” he went on after a moment, “I am 
^orry that I learned to-day — only to-day — how little 


260 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

you tliouglit of m6 — how base you believed me ? 1 

might have lived a long time with you near me, but 
jiow — I am sure we will be happier apart. Happy ! 
Did I say happy, Lady Dancourt?” he exclaimed, 
bursting into a derisive laugh. 

“How strangely you talk!” said Izma, swallowing- 
the lump in her throat, which refused to stay down,. 
“ I never saw you like this before. Lord Dancourt.” 

“ Perhaps you have never noticed my moods,” he 
replied in that same bitter tone. “ You know we have 
been very little together. Fate was very cruel to 
bring about that unfortunate marriage between us ; 
but I have sent for you to tell you that you may leave 
Merivale if you like. I will not keep you in bondage 
here. I am sorry that I ever influenced you to come. 
And you shall either have Southwolde or the money 
that is due you, when the year has expired ; you shall 
lose nothing, Lady Dancourt. You will not believe, 
me, of course ; but I did not know the truth until to- 
day. I did not know why you thought I had married 
you ; but after this it is better to go our separate ways. 
I can never feel the same to you, and you — I know 
you will be glad to be free. You must have suffered 
much already, living so near a man for whom you felt 
nothing but contempt. I hope you will forgive me.” 

He looked at her so sadly and humbly that her 
eyes drooped and her lips quivered with pain. 

“I — I do not want Southwolde or the money for 
which it was mortgaged,” she said in a choked voice. 

“ But I prefer that you should have it,” he replied. 
“I am not willing that you should suffer any loss. 
The Dancourts shall not injure you in this, if it lies in 
my power to prevent it. I wish that I could free you 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


261 


from the name that is hateful to you ; but I cannot. 
If it was not for that, perhaps in time you might forget 
the unhappy marriage and the man to whom you are 
bound.” 

“No, no!” she cried, starting to her feet; and then 
she dropped back, pale to the lips. “ I — I — oh, do 
you wish me to go away?” she stammered. 

“ It is better,” he replied huskily. “ I have come 
to my senses. I cannot ask you to live here as the 
wife of a man whom you despise. It is such a lie, I 
hate it.” 

“ You have ceased to care, then, even for the opin- 
ion of the world?” she said with strange eagerness. 

“ Yes. I was a fool to ever think of it.” 

She rose to her feet and stood with her hand resting 
on the low marble mantel. The color had again en- 
tirely deserted her face, leaving it sad, pained, and 
oddly wistful. The quick pulsation of her bosom gave 
sign of her inward agitation. 

Archie raised his weary eyes and looked at her. 
She was at that moment gazing pensively into the 
grate ; and he never forgot the picture she made as she 
stood there in her black velvet robe, the firelight flick- 
ering over her graceful form and playing among the 
glittering diamonds in her raven hair. 

Only heaven knew what the words he was saying 
cost him. Even now his heart, which an hour ago had 
been filled with rage, cried out for her. 

At length she looked up and their eyes met. 

“ Do you desire me to leave Merivale at once ?” she 
asked. “ Of course I am hardly prepared to go away 
to-night.” 

“ You know that I do not wish to drive jou awaj,” 


262 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


lie said reproaclifully. “I besought you to come 
here ; I am only now giving you your freedom.” 

“I was very rash for consenting to come here. I 
am sorry, Lord Dancourt, that I have troubled you 
thus long.” She turned as she said this and started 
toward the door ; then she stopped and added : ‘‘ Per- 
haps it will please your mother, and sister too, to 
know that another day will not find me at Merivale. 
I hope you will all be happier when I am gone.” 

Lord Dancourt did not answer her. He bowed his 
head between his hands again and did not look to- 
wards her. 

She reached the door, and again she hesitated. 

What had come over her?” she thought. Had she 
not longed to be away from Merivale ? Why were the 
tears so near the surface ? Why was her heart beat- 
ing with pain ? 

Impulsively she turned back and approached her 
husband’s chair, dropping one hand lightly upon his 
shoulder. 

“ Shall we not part as friends ?” she asked softly. 

He pushed her hand away almost roughly. 

“ No ; do not torture me,” he replied hoarsely. “ A 
man cannot be friends with his wife. Hate me ! It is 
better than indifference.” 

She drew back as if he had struck her. 

Good-bye,” she said simply ; and this time, without 
a backward glance, she went from the room. 

Lord Dancourt heard the door close, and a groan of 
anguish burst from his lips. 

“ 0 God !” he cried. “ How readily she accepted 
her freedom.” 


iZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 268 


CHAPTEE XXXIIL 
cupid’s dart. 

“ Do nothing rash,” the Earl had warned Lord Dan- 
court for the second time when he left him at the li- 
brary door ; and he had calmed the anger in his heart 
and met Izma quietly — he had not upbraided or even 
reproached her — yet when she was gone and her gen- 
tle “ good-bye” was ringing in his ears, he wondered if 
he had been too harsh with her. He remembered now 
that she had been very pale and her touch had been 
very kind as she placed her little hand on his shoulder. 
Had he said too much? had he been too angry to 
know whether or not he was wounding her ? 

Yet he had only offered her her freedom, he thought, 
and she had gladly accepted it ; he had only told her 
that she would be happier apart from him. But his 
heart was filled with remorse, misery, and despair. 

Why had he told Izma to leave Merivale ? He did 
not want her to go ; she must stay ; she must not 
leave him ; he could not live if he did not sometimes 
see her beautiful face. 

Thinking thus, he would start to the door and open 
it, saying that he would go to her and beseech her to 
forgive him and not go away ; and then he would re- 
member of what she had accused him, of how base she 
had believed him, and how little she cared for him, 
and he would turn back, crying aloud in his pain. 

All night he did not leave the library. No one came 
to disturb him, and in his unhappiness he did not 
know how swiftly the time was passing away. He 


izma; or, sunshine and shadow. 

did not know when it' was midniglit, even though the 
clock on the mantel chimed forth the hour. Another 
day was at hand, another morning was slowly rising, 
before, tired out both bodily and mentally, he threw 
himself on the lounge and slept the sound sleep of 
exhaustion. 

Izma had arranged to leave Merivale at sunrise, 
before any one ,in the house was astir, as she had no 
desire to bid either the Earl and Countess or Lady 
Maud farewell. The evening previous she had gone 
straight from the library and bidden her maid to have 
the carriage at the door to take her to Lane Park the 
following morning, as soon as the sun was up ; and 
during the night she had made all necessary prepara- 
tions for taking her leave. Lord Dancourt had told 
her that it was better for her to leave Merivale, and 
she was too proud to stay an hour longer than it was 
possible for her to get away ; yet down deep in her 
heart she did not blame him, for she knew she had 
been cruel and unjust. 

“ He was right — it is best that we part,” she kept 
saying over and over ; and though her voice choked in 
her throat and a few tears fell from her eyes, she 
thought it was because she was so tired of the burden 
of life, and because she was so lonely. 

She had made up her mind to leave England at 
once, for there was nothing to keep her here now. 
She would return to Spain, where she had lived a life 
of sunshine until her father’s death ; and perhaps there, 
with good nurse Llorenta, she would forget the pain 
that had crept into her life. What, after all, had her 
coming to England profited her ? Better had she ut- 
terly failed in her promise to her father than to have 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


265 


come to Lane Park and embittered her whole life, all 
to no purpose. 

At sunrise that morning, Izma looked out her win- 
dow and saw that the carriage was waiting for her be- 
low. She had been dressed and ready for a half-hour ; 
and without even a hasty glance of regret around her 
she made her way from the room. But as she was 
passing the library, the recollection of what had taken 
place there the evening before caused a pang to shoot 
through her heart. Her husband’s unhappy face rose 
up before her, and looked at her with that same sad, 
reproachful glance that yesterday had caused her, 
pulses to beat faster. A strange desire to look into 
the room again for the last time impelled her to open 
the door noiselessly and enter. 

The moment she stepped inside, however, she 
started back, with a stifled cry of astonishment. 

Lord Dancourt was there on the lounge before her, 
sound asleep. One arm was flung above his head, the 
other hung limply beside him. His face was very 
pale, and dark circles underlined his heavy lashes. 
He looked as if he suffered, even in his slumber. 

Izma hated herself for the tears that sprung to her 
eyes ; but she could not force them back. 

How tired and careworn he looked ! Could she 
help but pity him ? He was her husband, and very 
handsome, too, as he lay there unconscious of her 
steady gaze, and perhaps this was the last time she 
would ever see him. 

How strangely they were united — husband and 
wife, yet as far apart as if the grave lay between them ! 

Izma trembled as she stood there on the inside of 
the half-open door^ and her heart beat with such paiu-. 


266 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


ful throbs that she wondered if it was truly break- 
ing. 

“How white Lord Dancourt was !” she thought, as 
she continued to gaze at him, “ and how still ! He did 
not seem to breathe at all. Death could not be more 
quiet than this.” 

A sudden fear seized her heart. i 

She approached the lounge, and bent over his still 
form ; she looked at him closely and saw, to her re- 
lief, that he was breathing gently. She touched his 
forehead with her hand, and it was damp and cold, for 
the fire in the grate had long ago burned low, leaving 
the room uncomfortable and chilly. 

He stirred and muttered her own name, and she 
drew back startled, fearing that he would awake and 
find her there ; but after a moment, he again grew still. 

“Poor Archie!” she murmured, with sudden com- 
passion, her bosom heaving and fresh tears stjJrting 
to her eyes. “ My husband 1” she whispered, as if the 
words were sw^eet to her ; and with a strange brilliancy 
in her dark eyes, she fell on her knees beside him, 
hesitated, flushed, drew back, with a sort of gasp, and 
then quickly, desperately she pressed her lips lightly to 
his. The act seemed to recall her to her senses ; and 
frightened at her own temerity, she sprang to her feet, 
and, without a backward glance, hurried from the room. 

Not a moment too soon, however ; for Lord Dancourt 
stirred again, and this time opened his eyes, looking 
around him with a startled glance. The touch of 
Izma’s lips to his own had aroused him, yet he knew 
not whether it was a dream or a reality. 

“ Izma !” he called, passing his hand across his 
forehead in a dazed manner, but there w^as no answer. 


liMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 26 ? 

He looked around the room. How real the dream 
had been, he thought. The very air seemed freighted 
with her presence, and he could almost feel the pres- 
sure of her nectarine lips upon his own. He rose to 
his feet, a delicious thrill passing over him at the 
blissful remembrance ; he could scarcely satisfy him- 
self that it had not been true. 

He saw that the door was open, and he knew he had 
not left it so the evening before. 

He started. What if she had been here — the fair 
young wife whom he so madly loved. 

The room was surely filled with a faint, sweet per- 
fume that reminded him of her. 

He went to the door and looked out, but no one was 
there ; he turned back, laughing at his madness. It 
had been a dream — only a taste of the bliss which he 
was never to know, he thought, the old pain returning 
to his tortured heart. Izma would never come to him 
like that — never. Did she not despise him ? Oh, the 
folly of that brief, sweet hope ! 

He shivered — for the room was cold — and walking 
over to the window looked out, thinking of the words 
that Izma had said to him : 

“ Another day will not find me at Merivale.” 

Would she keep her word and go away ? 

How he longed for her to stay ! yet he could not ask 
her to remain at Merivale, now that he had given her 
her freedom. 

As he stood there looking out upon the sunrise, a 
carriage rolling towards the south gates and leaving 
Merivale suddenly came into his sight. He gave a 
cry of surprise, and, throwing up the window-sash, 
leaned out and strained his eyes to see who was the 


268 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

occupant. At a glance, lie saw it to be a woman ; and 
as the vehicle turned the bend in the drive and her 
profile was exposed to view, he reeled back, with a 
hoarse groan, crying despairingly : 

“Izma ! my love, my life ! She is gone /” 


CHAPTEE XXXIV. 

LADY maud’s wedding-eve. 

It was somewhat of a surprise to the Countess and 
Lady Maud when they learned that Izma had left 
Merivale forever. Perhaps a pang of remorse shot 
through their hearts when the following day her lug- 
gage was taken from the house and carried to Lane 
Park, and the man that came for it informed them 
that his mistress would leave for her old home in Spain 
on the morrow. It was enough to melt their hearts 
toward Izma to see Lord Dancourt’s despair. He was 
no more like the same happy, light-hearted Archie 
than if he had been some other man. His loud 
laughter was no longer heard, his boisterous ways, of 
which Lady Southwolde had so often disapproved, w^as 
replaced by a quiet demeanor which plainly betokened 
the sorrow in his heart. He seldom spoke to any one ; 
and it was several days after Izma had left Merivale, 
before either the Countess or Lady Maud had the 
courage to question him. What they learned was 
through the Earl, and he himself hardly gave them 
satisfaction. 

But one day when Lady Maud chanced in the li- 
brary where Lord Hancourt sat, she said to him : 


IZMA ; OR, StTNSHIKR AOT) SHADOW. 269 

“ Archie, why did your wife leave Merivale ?” 

He turned and gave her such a withering look that 
she quailed before it. 

‘‘ Lady Maud, why were you not civil to her when 
she was here ?” he asked. 

‘‘ Because I did not want her here,” she answered 
truthfully. 

‘‘ Then I trust you are satisfied,” he retorted angrily. 
“ She will never trouble you again.” 

“ How could I like her when she has ruined my 
life?” asked Lady Maud, with sudden pain. “If it 
had not been for her — ” 

“You would not be compelled to marry the Duke of 
Ellesmere,” Archie finished. “ I am not sorry for you. 
It is no more than you deserve.” 

“Archie!” she exclaimed in a wounded voice. And 
looking up, he saw that tears had sprung to her eyes. 

He was silent for a moment then he said con- 
tritely : 

“ Forgive me if I speak too harshly ; but it can’t be 
helped, you know. Somebody must pay tho debt on 
Southwolde, and I don’t know how it is to be done 
unless you marry the Duke of Ellesmere.” 

“ But Izma— your wife — will she demand it now ?” 
asked Lady Maud, in astonishment. 

“ No ; but I prefer that she should have it,” replied 
Archie in a hopeless tone. “You must keep your 
promise to the Duke, Maud. It is the only way. You 
must marry him before Christmas.” 

“ I will,” she said firmly; although she paled at the 
thought. “ You need not fear that I will break my 
promise. I could not — the time is too near at hand.” 

She spoke truly. The time for her marriage with 


IZMA ; OB, SUNSHINE AND SHADoW. 

tlie Duke of Ellesmere was indeed quickly approacli- 
ing. Tlie day was now only sis weeks hence, and 
Lady Maud knew that they would soon pass by. She 
shuddered to think of the sacrifice; yet she had made 
up her mind to meet it bravely. In the course of time, 
she must marry some one ; and as her heart would 
never throb with love again, it might as well be the 
Duke of Ellesmere. What^ did it matter ? She felt 
that but few people cared for her. 

The Countess had spared neither pains nor expense 
in ordering her trousseau. The wedding was to take 
place at Merivale, as Lady Maud had positively re- 
fused to be married in town ; but Lady Southwolde 
was determined to make a grand affair of it, even 
though the ceremony was not to be performed in Han- 
over Square. 

The Countess was left to manage everything ; Lady 
Maud would not even be consulted. She did not^care 
whether her trousseau was plain or beautiful ; she 
only begged that there would be as little display as 
possible. ' If she had been left to suit herself in this, 
there would not have been a single guest invited; but 
the Countess proceeded to have her own way, and in 
the mean time the Duke came weekly to Merivale, 
each visit disgusting his bride-elect more and more. 

As the time drew nearer Lady Maud’s heart grew 
faint, and she felt that she must cry out in her pain, 
and throwing herself on her knees before the Duke of 
Ellesmere beg him to release her from her promise. 
How quickly the days flew past. She almost counted 
the hours of each one of them. She wondered what 
her life would be when she was alone with the man 
who was to be her husband, for as soon as they were 


IZMA'; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 271 

married it had been arranged that they should go to 
his duchy, as she had declined to take a bridal tour. 

The Countess, though pleased and flattered at the 
match her daughter was to make, and gratifled at the 
many congratulations that she received from her 
friends, was not so happy as she had thought to be, 
as she saw plainly enough that Lady Maud was miser- j 
able. Archie’s trouble, too, bore upon her mind. It 
had been impossible to keep his marriage a secret, 
and it was not strange that people began to remark 
the absence of Lady Dancourt from Merivale. Friends 
of the Countess who came to see the bride were sur- 
prised that she had gone to Spain alone “ to pay a 
last visit to her old home.” They thought it odd in- 
deed that her husband had not accompanied her. 

It was but a short time, however, before they began 
to see that there was a mystery, and the Countess was 
saved the embarrassment of an explanation. But she 
was not entirely indifferent to her son’s sorrow. Some- 
times a feeling of bitterness toward the Earl would 
swell her heart, and she would say to herself that it 
was he who had brought the blight upon their chil- 
dren’s lives. If it had not been for his rashness and 
folly Archie would never have met Izma Alvarez, and 
Maud would perhaps have been happily married to 
Lord Charleroy. Yet try though she would, she 
could not regret that Lady Maud was to be Duchess 
of Ellesmere. 

It was a relief to her that Izma had gone away, 
although it had made of Lord Dancourt a changed 
and unhappy man. She believed, as she had of Lady 
Maud in the beginning, that he would get over it in 


272 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

time. She could not realize that the true love of a 
true heart never dies. 

Lord Charleroy’s name was never spoken at Meri- 
vale, and no mention of Floradene ever being re- 
opened was made. Occasionally a letter came from 
Castle Lorna written by Yalerie or Lady Thoresby, 
but there was never a line of Lord Charleroy. Several 
letters from Castle Lorna had come for Izma, but 
after a while they ceased, as there was never any 
answer. Not knowing where to send them, Lord Dan- 
court took possession of them, and with an aching 
heart laid them away in the room that she had occu- 
pied. 

Merivale had never seemed so cheerless as now. 
Everything appeared changed, for the family circle 
had broken up. Lady Maud was always in her own 
room, and Lord Dancourt was seldom to be found. 
Even the Earl could not find time to sit with his wife 
and talk to her for hours, before retiring at night, as 
he had of old. 

The Countess missed it greatly, and ' often, when 
alone, she would think how happy the days had been 
before trouble came to them, and how confiding had 
been the love of her husband and children, and she 
would ask herself, with a twinge of conscience : 

“ Am I in any way to blame for this ? Have I helped 
to destroy the happiness that once existed at Meri- 
vale?” 

Then she would cry in her fulness of heart : 

“ Oh, my children, I love you ! It was all for your 
own goodl” 

But even if she repented, things had gone too far 
now to recall tbcm, she thought j and reasoning thus, 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 273 

she doubled her efforts for the preparations of Lady 
Maud’s wedding. 

The days grew colder and colder. Winter had at 
last outrivalled autumn, and the bare limbs of the 
trees and the eaves of Merivale were thick with long 
glittering icicles. 

It was but one week before Lady Maud’s wedding- 
day when her trousseau arrived ; and though it was a 
perfect marvel of beauty, she turned from it with a 
shudder. She looked out upon the bleak, icy scene 
around her, and thought that the world, frozen as it 
was, was no colder than her heart. 

Only a few more days- — how short they seemed ! — 
and her freedom would be taken from her ; she would 
be the Duke of Ellesmere’s wife. She had wept until 
tears refused to flow ; she had moaned and cried aloud 
in her anguish until her voice had failed her, and a 
last, a calm, such as only despair can know, had 
settled over her. 

Her wedding eve was soon at hand, and the earth, 
as if in honor of the morrow, had donned its bridal- 
robe. Sleet and ice had given place to snow, and all 
day great white flakes fell noiselessly and covered 
every open spot. Ailing the basins of fountains and 
banking itself up against the images that dotted the 
grounds here and there until Merivale appeared like 
some great, ghostly grave-yard. 

Lady Maud did not leave her room all day ; she 
scarcely moved from her seat by the window, where 
she watched the fast-falling snow-flakes as they flut- 
tered like down to the earth below. 

To-morrow at noon all would be over, and sho 
almost wished that the ordeal was past. 


274 IZMA ; OB, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

The Countess came to her room once during the day, 
and kissed her pale cheek, saying,’ with real tears in 
her eyes, that it was hard to give her up even to the 
Duke. Lady Maud replied that it was dreadful; and 
seeing that she was better left alone, the Countess 
went away, thinking that each day she saw more of 
life’s trouble. 

When night came on, it was just as Lady Maud had 
anticipated — she Vi^as restless and wide awake, as she 
had been for a week past. Sleep was a thing impos- 
sible. 

She did not leave the window until it was near mid- 
night. All was quiet within and without, and the 
snow-flakes w^ere still falling when she rose to her feet, 
and with a prolonged sigh made her way across the 
room. She was tired of the monotony at last, and 
opening the door, she stepped out into the hall and. 
Went down the stairway. The lights were turned low, 
for the members qf the household had each rethed to 
their several apartments. 

The library door w'as open, and Lady Maud entered 
and threw herself into a seat near the fire. She knew 
not why she had left her room and come here ; she 
was only miserable, and longed to quiet the nervous 
restlessness that, since her betrothal with the Duke of 
Ellesmere, had almost bereft her of her reason. She 
turned her weary eyes toward the window and looked 
out, for the curtains had not been drawn : but there 
was nothing here to bring her rest. The snow-flakes 
were falling so thickly that she could not see beyond 
'jhe edge of the balcony. 

She arose and crossed the room to shut out the 
scene, but as she approached the window she sudden- 


12MA * OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 575 

ly stopped, and gave vent to a cry of astonisliment. 
The dark figure of a woman, half covered with snow, 
was in that moment outlined against the window on 
the outside^ and as she pressed her pale face against 
the pane, where the light from the room fell upon it, 
Lady Maud saw, to her intense surprise, that it was 
Izma, Lady Dancourt. 


CHAPTEE XXXy. 

‘‘GOOD-NIGHT ; AND GOD BLESS YOU !” 

Lady Maud was not easily frightened, but the sight 
of Izma out there in the snow at this hour of night, 
when she had believed her far away in another land, 
was so unexpected to her that for a moment she could 
do nothing but stand there, startled and trembling, 
and stare at her through the window, undecided as to 
whether it was the living Lady Dancourt or merely an 
apparition. 

A tap on the window-pane recalled her to her senses. 
She hurried forward, and threw open the sash, her 
heart beating excitedly. 

“ Izma — Lady Dancourt !” she gasped. “ Great 
heaven ! it is really you. Why are you here ? and on 
such a night as this ! Come in,” with a shiver of cold. 
“ You must be half frozen.” 

“ It is very cold,” said Izma, in a benumbed voice, 
as she drew her long dark cloak closer about her, and 
crossed the threshold of the window. “ I have been 
watching for you out there in the snow for the last 
hour.” 


IZMA ; oil, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

“ For me ?” exclaimed Lady Maud in astonishment^ 
as she closed the window, and drew the curtains to- 
gether, wheeling around and looking into Izma’s pale 
face. 

“ Yes ; be quiet. No one must know that I am 
here — ” with an uneasy look around her. “ I have 
something to say to you alone.” 

Lady Maud closed the door cautiously, and going 
up to Izma took her cloak from around her, saying : 

“ You are covered in snow, and are pale and trem- 
bling. Draw near the fire and warm yourself. How 
strange that you should come here to see me at mid- 
night 1 I thought you were in Spain.” 

“ I have never been there,” replied Izma, sinking 
down into a chair near the fire with a sigh of relief, 
and placing her wet feet near the fender. 

“ But we heard that you were gone.” 

“ That was my intention, but something seeined to 
hold me back until after your wedding-day.” 

Until after my wedding-day ! What do you mean ? 
Why, to-morrow is my wedding-day !” cried Lady 
Maud. 

“ That is why I am here to-night,” said Izma, glanc- 
ing up into Lady Maud’s perplexed face. 

“ Are you from Lane Park ? We believed the place 
closed for ever.” 

I have never left there, but I am from Floradene 
to-night.” 

Lady Maud looked at Izma incredulously, and drop- 
ping down into the nearest seat replied faintly : “ I 
cannot understand you. I beg of you to explain.” 

Izma was silent for a moment, then she looked up 
and said : “ You know. Lady Maud, that we have nev- 


i2MA ; on, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

er been friends to each other, yet though I tried hard 
to steel my heart against you, I could not see you mar 
your own life when, by reaching forth my hand to 
stay you, I might prevent it. You may scorn my in- 
terference, but I am here to-night to do what I should 
consider a favor if any one should do the same for 
me.” 

“ And what is that ?” asked Lady Maud breathlessly. 

“ It is to save you from the marriage with a man 
whom you do not love — the Duke of Ellesmere.” 

Lady Maud sprang to her feet, paling to the lips. 

“You are mad!” she cried. “To-morrow is my 
wedding-day, and why do you presume to think that I 
do not love the Duke of Ellesmere ?” 

“ I am quite sure you do not,” replied Izma quietly, 
drawing a folded paper from her bosom as she spoke. 
“ Here is the written proof of it, I think, — a leaf from 
your diary, penned by your own hand.” 

Lady Maud took it and read it through with aston- 
ished eyes. 

“How came you with this?” she asked half an- 
grily. 

“ I found it on the terrace beneath your window 
some time ago. I read it, and knew at once that it be- 
longed to you, yet I did not mean to ever restore it to 
you until a few days ago. I could not tell why I kept 
it, but it must have been for this end. It is yours, is 
it not ?” 

“Yes,” admitted Lady Maud huskily. “I tore it 
from my diary and intended to destroy it, but I forgot 
it and must have left it on my table near the window, 
where the wind blew it to the terrace below. What 
has this to do with your visit here to-night ?” 


S'i'8 IZMA ; OR, StrKSHlNR AKD SMADOW. 

“ A great deal ; for if I had not discovered jour 
secret I would not be here at all. There is a great 
mistake in the words that you have written on that 
leaf, Lady Maud. Lord Charleroy loves you.” 

Lady Maud sank down into her chair again, breath- 
ing hoarsely. 

« Why have you come here to taunt me ?” she asked 
reproachfully. ‘‘You have already had your revenge 
— we have suJffered enough. May I not have peace on 
my wedding-eve ?” 

“ But I swear that I speak truthfully,” Izma earn- 
estly declared. “Wait until you have heard me. 
When I left Merivale, I went away with the deter- 
mination to let you suffer whatever you might ; my 
heart was so full of bitterness, that I did not care 
whether your marriage with the Duke of Ellesmere 
would bring you happiness or not. I knew that you 
did not love him ; I knew that your heart had been 
given to Lord Charleroy ; and I had stayed with him 
long enough at Castle Lorna to learn that he loved 
you ; yet my first decision was to go away and leave 
you to your fate. My conscience smote me. I lin- 
gered at Lane Park for days, striving to harden my- 
self against the good impulse that rose within me, but 
in vain. I even confided all to Nurse Llorenta ; but 
she derided my weakness, saying, with all the angry 
vehemence of her hot southern blood, that it should 
be ‘ an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth but 
still I was not satisfied. No one will ever know how 
hard I have tried to keep my oath of vengeance, yet 
my whole nature has rebelled against it.” 

Here her voice grew husky, and Lady Maud’s face 
softened. 


IZMA ; OR, SU^irSHINE AND SHADOW. 270 

“ I may have wronged my dead father and my dead 
mother,” she continued, “but thank heaven when I 
have left you to-night. Lady Maud, I will know that 
I have not wronged God. Listen ! A few days ago I 
made up my mind, and I sat down and wrote to Castle 
Lorna. I knew Lord Charleroy was still there, and I 
bade him to come at once to Floradene, as a matter of 
importance required his presence here. He answered 
immediately by wire, saying, ‘ I will come but he did 
not reach Floradene until to-night. I was there 
ahead of him, with Nurse Llorenta, for I knew if he 
came at all it would be to-night. I met him and told 
him my reasons for bringing him here. To-morrow 
was your wedding-day, and if he did not wish to see 
your happiness ruined he must save you from the 
Duke of Ellesmere. 

“He was amazed and startled. He declared that 
such a thing was utterly impossible. You loved the 
Duke, for the Countess had told him with her own 
lips before he w^ent to Castle Lorna that there was no 
hope for him — the Duke of Ellesmere was your 
choice.” 

“ Oh, dt was false !” cried Lady Maud excitedly, 
trembling from head to foot. 

“ So I believed,” continued Izma, “ and I proved it 
to him by placing before his eyes the very diary leaf 
which you hold in your hand, telling him at the same 
time how I came in possession of it. 

“ It was sufficient to convince him of the truth, and 
the look of joy that flashed into his eyes was enough 
to prove to me, even if I had not known, that he still 
loved you.” 

“ ‘ Why have you not told me this before ?’ he cried. 


280 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

‘ To-morrow is her wedding-day. How can we pre- 
vent the marriage now ? Oh, it is too late, and it will 
kill me if I lose her now, knowing that she loves 
me !’ 

“ My carriage is without,” I told him. “ I will go 
to Lady Maud this very night; I will tell her the 
truth, and she must decide upon some course of 
action. We can do nothing until we have consulted 
her, but I feel sure that when she knows all she will 
withdraw from her marriage with the Duke, even at 
the eleventh hour. 

‘‘ I was true to my word. I came straight here from 
Floradene, determined to see you, in spite of the late- 
ness of the hour, for I knew there was no time to lose. 
The light through the library windows drew me 
towards the spot, yet if I had not seen you here I 
should in some way have effected my entrance into the 
house. Now that you know all. Lady Maud, what do 
you mean to do? You must decide upon soniething 
quickly, for I am to take your message back to Lord 
Charleroy to-night.” 

Lady Maud was as pale as death. She attempted 
to rise to her feet, but fell back panting. 

O Izma, help me!” she cried piteously. ‘‘I can- 
not even think ; my brain is whirling.” 

“ Do you love Lord Charleroy well enough to give 
up all for his sake ?” asked Izma. 

“ Yes, yes, and a thousand times more,” was the 
passionate reply ; “ but how can I jilt the Duke of Elles- 
mere at the very altar, when he was to save Southwolde 
from ruin ? It is dishonorable ; I cannot stoop to it. 
No, no, it is too late !” 

^‘It is Iqss honorable, Lady Maud, to marry the 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 2B1 

iDuke when your whole heart is given to another,” said 
Izma. ‘‘ Go to him and tell him the truth, and he 
will release you.” 

‘‘ But he will not return to Merivale again until he 
comes to be married. How can I tell him then?” 

“ You must, even if the ceremony is delayed. It is 
your only chance. Say nothing to any one until he 
arrives, and then ask that you may see him alone. I 
feel sure that he will give you your freedom when he 
learns that you have no love for him.” 

“ I cannot believe it,” said Lady Maud, huskily. 
“He will say that it is too late.” 

“ But it is not too late until the marriage vows have 
been spoken. You ask me to help you. Lady Maud, 
and this is my advice: Marry the man you love, at any 
hazard. You need not fear for Southwolde” — with a 
sudden sadness and pain in her voice — “ I will never 
trouble it. My revenge has all turned to bitterness ; 
it has recoiled upon my own head. This night it dies 
forever, and I bury it with the past.” 

Lady Maud arose, and, going over to where Izma sat, 
fell upon her knees before her. 

“ See,” she said in a tone of entreaty, “ I kneel be- 
fore you to ask your forgiveness. I have wronged 
you ; but it was because I did not know you. How 
good you were to come to me to-night. I was cold 
and cruel to you. I wonder that you do not hate me.” 
' “No — do not kneel to me,” said Izma, with an ex- 
pression of pain. “ I have been very base. I am not 
worthy.” 

“ But you forgive me ?” 

“ Yes ; you were but little to blame. Come ! it is 


282 izMa ; on, sunshine and shadoW. 

growing very late. I must be away. Tell me what is 
your decision for to-morrow.” 

Lady Maud rose to her feet again and covered her 
face with both hands. 

“I know not what to do,” she replied unhappily. 

Izma was silent for a few moments, then she looked 
up suddenly and said : 

<< Why not have an interview with Lord Charleroy 
to-morrow ?” 

For an instant Lady Maud’s face brightened, then 
her countenance fell. 

“ If 1 should see him and speak to him, my courage 
would fail me,” she said. 

‘‘ But do you mean to marry the Duke of Ellesmere 
if he refuses to release you?” 

“ What else can I do ?” 

“ Then I will carry this message to Lord Charleroy,” 
said Izma, rising. “ I can do no more. I havo* told 
you the truth, and left you to your OAvn decision.” 
She picked up her cloak and threw it around her ; but 
before she had taken a step toward the windoAv through 
which she had entered. Lady Maud sprang forward 
and caught her by the arm. 

“ Do not go,” she pleaded. ‘‘ Wait ! Great heaven ! 
I cannot give Elwood up now. Yes” — hoarsely — “ tell 
him to come to me to-morrow. I must see him, even 
if it be for the last time.” 

“ And tell him that you still love him ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ And where will you see him ?” 

“ In father’s study, as I can reach it by a rear stair- 
way. No one will be there to-morrow, and he can 
enter by the window that opens upon the little balcony. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


283 


I will see that it is left unlocked. Tell him that I 
will see him to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock.” 

“ But do you not go to the chapel at twelve ?” asked 
Izma. 

“ Yes, but Lord Charleroy must be here when I 
speak with the Duke. He must help me ; I cannot 
bear it alone.” 

“ Very well ; I shall return to Floradene now with 
your message,” said Izma, moving toward the window. 

I wish you nothing but happiness. Lady Maud ; 
always remember that.” 

Lady Maud followed her to the window and threw 
it open. 

•‘Will you never return to Merivale, Izma?” she 
asked. “I think we could learn to love each other 
now as — as sisters ought.” 

Izma’s face grew paler ; a strange sadness swept 
over her countenance. 

“ I shall never return here,” she replied, with a catch 
in her low voice. 

Lady Maud took her hand and carried it to her lips. 

“ It is very sad,” she said, “ that husband and wife 
should be parted. Izma, if you could only learn to 
care for poor Archie — ” 

“ There ! I must go,” broke in Izma, huskily, an 
unseen tear splashing down her cheek. 

“ It is too cold to stand here. Close the window. 
Lady Maud — good night.” 

“ One moment, Izma. Hear me ! Come back to- 
morrow, and do not go away. We will atone. Archie 
is so unhappy. He loves you — ” 

No, no ! You are mistaken,” replied Izma, hurry- 


284 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

ing toward tlie steps. “ Wliat you ask can never be. 
Good night.” 

‘‘ Good night ; and God bless you !” returned Lady 
Maud, with a sigh ; and standing there in the open 
window, she watched her as she battled her way 
through the snow-storm until she disappeared from 
sight. 

“God bless her!” she repeated fervently, as she 
closed the window and turned away. “ I will carry 
to my grave the memory of the words she spoke to- 
night. ‘Lord Charleroy loves you.’ Heaven be 
praised for that !” 


CHAPTEE XXXVI. 

A TRAGIC DEATH. 

The hours that Lord Charleroy waited for Izma’s 
return from Merivale were hours of suspense. He 
had gone to the window of the sitting-room, where he 
sat with Nurse Llorenta, whom Izma had left there 
when she went away, for the twelfth time, when the 
sound of horses’ hoofs in the snow caused his heart 
to leap to his throat with joy. She had returned at 
last. 

He hurried to the door and, opening, it went down 
the steps to meet her, too eager to wait until she had 
entered the house. 

“ Do you bring me good news ?” he asked quickly, 
as soon as he gained sight of her. 

“ Yes,” she replied ; and as he led her into the warm 
sitting-room she told him the result of her meeting 
•^ith Lady Maud, 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 285 

In his gratitude he grasped her hands and held 
them tightly. 

“How am I ever to thank you for this ?” he cried. 

“ I ask no thanks,” she replied. “ I have only done 
my duty, Lord Charleroy. I will feel that I have 
gained my reward if it all ends happily.” 

“ You are a noble woman. Lady Dancourt,” he said. 
“ Heaven itself will some day reward you.” 

Izma smiled sadly. 

“No, Lord Charleroy, in your gratitude you over- 
estimate my worth. I am far from noble.” 

At this moment Nurse Llorenta arose and spoke 
to Izma in her native tongue. 

“ Yes, indeed, it is after midnight,” replied Izma. 
“ My lord. Nurse is sleepy” — with a faint smile ; 
must leave you, now, and return to Lane Park. We 
can do do more for you to-night.” 

“ To Lane Park !” exclaimed Lord Charelroy in 
surprise. “Why do you not go to Merivale, Lady 
Dancourt?” 

A crimson flush arose to Izma’s face. 

“I — I thought you knew. Lord Charleroy,” she 
stammered. “ I — I — you know I have left Merivale. 
We will go to Spain to-morrow.” 

“ What ! to-morrow ? You and your husband ?” 

“ No. I will go with Nurse Llorenta.” 

She moved toward the door and Lord Charleroy, 
with a look of astonishment in his eyes, followed. 

“Lady Dancourt,” he said, “you know me to be 
your friend. Tell me — has your life gone wrong, and 
so soon as this ?” 

^‘Yes, all wrong,” she replied, with a sudden gush 


286 IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

of tears, as she turned and gave him her hand in part- 

ing. 

He took it and carried it to his lips. He would 
have questioned her further, perhaps, but she looked 
at him so beseechingly that he opened the door and 
allowed her to go from him, in silence. 

“ Just as I thought in the beginning,” he said as he 
closed the door and turned back into the room. “ The 
marriage w^as not a happy one.” 

But in his own joy of heart Izma was soon forgotten. 
He could think of nothing but Lady Maud and the 
morrow. True, she was still the bethrothed wife of 
the Duke of Ellesmere, and he might refuse to release 
her ; but the thought of her love for him alone was in 
itself enough to cause his pulses to thrill madly. And 
she had told him to come ; he would see her and, look- 
ing into her eyes, would know that her heart throbbed 
with love for him. Even for this, he would not have 
lived in vain. 

Yet the night was full of suspense for him. 

The risk of winning Lady Maud at this late hour, 
when she was on the eye of marrying the Duke of 
Ellesmere, was so great that he was sure of nothing. 
Failure was even more certain than success. 

When morning dawned the snow-storm was over ; 
the earth was still white, but the clouds had broken 
and grown light, allowing the sun to peep forth now 
and then from behind them. 

It seemed to Lord Charleroy that the time for him 
to go to Merivale would never come. By ten o’clock 
his impatience . had reached a fever heat, and spring- 
ing on his horse, which had been saddled for his use a 
half hour ago, he rode swiftly away from Floradene, 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. , , 287 

regardless of the flying snow, which the horse’s hoofs 
sent in his face and every direction. 

As he passed the Southwolde chapel, where the cere- 
mony was to take place, he saw that its doors were 
thrown open, and he shuddered and spurred his horse 
onward, praying in his heart that the woman he loved 
should be his. 

His blood coursed like fire through his veins as he 
neared Merivale ; every nerve in his body quivered 
with emotion as he thought that a few moments more 
and he would stand face to face with Lady Maud. 
How long it seemed since they had parted. He could 
hardly realize that he was going to her again. 

It was yet too early for the guests to have begun to 
arrive, and Lord Charleroy could ride near the house 
and enter without fear of being seen. 

His heart beat wildly as he dismounted his horse 
and made his way toward the balcony upon which the 
windows of the Earl’s study opened. 

He hurried up the steps and looked into the room. 
Lady Maud was not there, but he tried the end win- 
dow and found it unlocked, and he knew that she was 
expecting him. 

He entered the room and threw himself into the 
nearest seat with panting breath, listening attentively 
for the approach of a light footstep. 

He had not long to wait, yet to him each moment 
seemed an hour ; just as the clock in a room some- 
where near by was striking eleven, there was a step, a 
soft rustle of silken garments, and, springing to his 
feet and wheeling around with a lov\^ cry. Lord Charle- 
roy beheld a picture that he never forgot in life. 

It was Lady Maud in her bridal robe. 


^8$ IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

Slie had stopped on the threshold of the rear door, 
through which she had entered, and stood there, half- 
hesitating, half- doubtful, as beautiful as a dream, 
yet as pale as the dead white silk she wore; Her veil 
was thrown back, and for a moment Lord Charleroy 
could only stand there speechless and drink in her 
loveliness. 

He saw her fair face light up as he looked at her, 
saw her eyes fill with happy tears, and then he 
sprang towards her and held out his arms, exclaiming : 

“Maud ! my darling !” 

That was all ; but another moment and her head was 
on his bosom, and she was weeping in his arms. Her 
strength had indeed failed her. It was impossible 
to resist the love that had so long filled her heart. 

For that blissful, thrilling moment she even forgot 
the Duke of Ellesmere. 

****** 

Lady Maud had begged to be arrayed in her bridal- 
dress early, and then be left alone until the Duke of 
Ellesmere arrived, for she knew this was her only 
chance of seeing Lord Charleroy ; and the Countess, 
who was willing now to gratify her smallest wish, 
readily consented. Already Lady Maud had bidden 
her maid to send the Duke to her father’s study as 
soon as he reached Merivale ; and when her mother 
had left her, she felt safe from interruption for at 
least an hour. At eleven o’clock she was alone, and 
it was an easy matter to steal down the rear stairway. 

Lady Southwolde, all unconscious of any evil, had 
repaired to her own apartments and made an elaborate 
toilet ; and at precisely quarter of twelve she swept 
down stairs, resplendent in violet velvet and diamonds, 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. ^89 

to receive the attendants which were to accompanj^ the 
bridal twain to the chapeL 

The bridegroom had not yet arrived. He was ex- 
pected each moment, as the train from London, which 
was to bring him hither with a party from that place, 
was due at half past ten. He was late, but no one 
thought much of this but the Countess, who, when 
twelve o'clock had come, began to grow nervous. She 
knew that the chapel was already filled with eager, ex- 
pectant guests. 

It angered her to think that the Duke of Ellesmere 
would keep his bride waiting. What did it mean ? 
At two o’clock they were to leave Merivale for his 
duchy. The train would surely not wait for them. 
The Countess laughed and talked hysterically, yet her 
heart grew cold within her as the moments flew past. 
No one seemed to note the passing time ; yet pale with 
dread for something, — she knew not what, — Lady 
Southwolde hurried from one window to the other, 
looking out for some sign of the Duke of Ellesmere. 

Why did he not come ? It was not like him to be 
lat». 

The Countess could not tell why she was so fearful. 

As the hands of the clock began to move away from 
twelve, she almost went mad with suspense. Was she 
to lose all at the hour when success had seemed so 
certain ? She felt that an hour of such suspense would 
kill her. 

Twelve o’clock — fifteen minutes after, and then the 
door of the drawing-room was flung open and the Earl 
of Southwolde, ghastly pale and trembling, entered 
with what appeared to be an open telegram in his 
hand. 


290 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


A sudden liusli fell upon the room, and Lady Soutli- 
wolde sprang towards him, with an inarticulate cry. 

“ Bober t !” she exclaimed, clutching his arm con- 
vulsively. “ Something has happened !” 

“My God! Yes!” he replied, passing his hand 
across his eyes. “ The London train has been wrecked, 
and — and — ” His voice wavered and broke down, and 
a cry of horror from every lip in the room followed his 
words. 

“ The Duke,” gasped the Countess, in a voice of 
terror. What of Mm, Bober t ?” 

The Earl shuddered and glanced at the message in 
his hand. 

“ This telegram from the scene of the wreck,” he 
said huskily, “ apprises me of his — his death. There 
will be no wedding at Merivale to-day.” 

A wild cry from the Countess drowned his last words; 
and reeling away from him, she fell half-fainting into 
the nearest chair. 

For a moment there was a silence as solemn as 
death in the room, and then they began to whisper in 
awed voices: “The bride! poor Lady Maud! it will 
kill her !” 

Lady Southwolde, hearing their words, roused her- 
self and sprang to her feet, her face pitifully drawn 
white. 

“ Let me go,” she said hoarsely, making her way to- 
wards the door. “ I will break the news to her.” And 
before any one could have interposed, she had stag- 
gered out into the hall and was hurrying up the stair- 
way. 

“ God forgive me ! it is my punishment !” she cried 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 291 

Under lier breath, a sob shaking her body from head 
to foot. “ Olr, it is awful ! How am I to tell her?” 

When she reached Lady Maud’s apartments she was 
amazed to find them empty. If it had not been for 
the door through which Lady Maud had gone out, and 
which now, for the first time since the Countess could 
remember, stood open, she would immediately have 
alarmed the house ; but as she stepped out into the 
corridor in search of the missing one, and went to- 
ward the stairway, the sound of voices floated up to 
her ears. 

Trembling in every limb, she hastened down the 
steps. The sound of the voices led her straight to the 
Earl’s study, and as she paused in the rear doorway, 
the sight she saw within caused her to stand there for 
several moments speechless and horrified. 

Lady Maud with a long, dark cloak thrown over her 
bridal robe was in the act of being led through the 
open window by Lord Charleroy, whose arm was 
thrown protectingly around her, and they were look- 
ing into each others faces with their eyes aglow with 
love. 

“ Come, my darling,” he was saying in a caressing 
voice. “ You shall never regret it— my own bride, by 
the right of our love. No one can take you from me 
now.” And bending his head he kissed her passion^ 
ately. 

With a swift bound Lady Southwolde reached their 
side, and sprang between them, causing Lady Maud 
to fall back with a startled cry. 

“What does this mean?” she demanded, turning to 
Lord Charleroy, who faced her fearlessly. 

“ It means, my lady, that I have learned the truth 


292 


IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


at last, and liave come to claim my promised wife,” 
lie replied steadily. “ She lias consented to go with 
me, and I set the whole world at defiance. No one 
can take her from me.” 

The Countess turned her glance toward Lady Maud. 

“ This on your wedding-day?” she cried. “Would 
you have disgraced us all ? Maud, you are mad !” 

Lady Maud crept nearer Lord Charleroy, and he 
clasped her hands in his own. 

“ I will marry the man I love,” she retorted, proud- 
ly ; “ yet I refused to go with him, mother, without 
freeing myself from the Duke of Ellesmere, until I 
learned how cruelly you had jiai’ted us. How could 
you have done it, when I trusted you ?” 

Lady Soutliwolde’s eyes dropped before her daugh- 
ter’s reproachful gaze. 

“ It was for your sake,” she replied. 

“No, no, mother, not for my sake, for you came 
near blighting my life,” said Lady Maud bitterly. 

The Countess looked up desperately. 

“ It was for South wolde, too,” she added, piteous 
tears springing to her eyes. 

“ But Southwolde is no longer in danger, mother, 
and I cannot marry the Duke. I must go with Elwood. ” 

The Countess started violently. The surprise with 
which she had met had caused her to forget the terri- 
ble errand that had brought her here. 

She placed a detaining hand on Lady Maud’s arm. 

“ You need not fear,” she said in a shuddering voice. 
“ The Duke of Ellesmere is out of your way forever. 
Bead this and understand me.” As she spoke she 
placed the fatal telegram in her hand. 

Lady Maud’s face blanched as she read it, and with 


IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


293 


a lioarse cry slie placed her hand over her heart and 
reeled backwards, crying : 

“ It cannot be true !” 

“ It is ; you are free. The Duke of Ellesmere is 
dead,” said the Countess. 

“Dead!” exclaimed Lord Charleroy incredulously. 
“ Lady Southwolde, what do you mean?” 

The Countess took the telegram from Lady Maud’s 
trembling hand and placed it in his own. He read it, 
and it fluttered from his fingers and fell to the floor. 
His face paled, and he bowed his head . reverently 
while Lady Maud, who had sunk down into a chair, 
wept tears of sorrow and regret. 

It was several moments before any of them spoke 
again. 

At length the Countess said slowly : 

“ You see there is no need to flee from Merivale.” 

Lady Maud looked up with tear-wet eyes. 

“I — I am sorry he is dead,” she sobbed remorse- 
fully. “ I — I am sorry for all the hard things I have 
said against him, but I could not have married him, 
Elwood,” — looking at him pleadingly — “did I wrong 
him very much ?” 

Lord Charleroy went up to her and knelt beside 
her, pressing her hands fondly. 

“ Not half so much as we have been wronged,” he 
replied with a glance at Lady Southwolde, who shrank 
away from his gaze. “ You were mine. No one had 
the right to part us, and the Duke of Ellesmere was 
only stealing you from the man who loved you.” 

“ And yet it was such a horrible death,” said Lady 
Maud shuddering. “ Oh, was there ever such a wed- 
ding-day as this !” 


294 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


The Countess stepped up to her and placed her 
hand on her arm. None of the palor had left her face. 

“ I think you had best come to your room,” she said 
unsteadily. “ No one must know of this occurrence. 
Lord Charleroy, will you be kind enough to depart 
from Merivale unseen ? It will, save a deal of talk 
which will otherwise occur if it is known that Lady 
Maud spent the morning with you here on her wed- 
ding-day.” 

“ I will go at Maud’s command,” he said, rising to 
his feet and bowing before her. 

‘‘ You must go,” declared Lady Southwolde quickly. 
“ It is no time for you to even speak of your love for 
Maud.” 

Lady Maud looked up with an expression of pain. 

‘‘ Yes, go, Elwood,” she said. “ You have my prom- 
ise, and I will be true to it. God grant that our wed- 
ding-day may be a brighter one than this !” 

He bent over her, and dropped a kiss on her fore- 
head, replying : 

“ It will be a day of sunshine, my darling, because 
our love will take away the shadows.” 


CHAPTEE XXXVII. 

A YEAR AND A HALF LATER. 

A BEAUTIFUL villa in Spain — as fair a scene as the 
summer sun ever shone upon. A building of spotless 
white, gravel walks bordered by orange trees, numer- 
ous fountains and flower-beds, and a smooth, velvety 


IZilA ; OR, SUXSniNE AND SHADOW, 


295 


terrace sloping down to the hanks of a clear river, 
where gayly-painted skiffs and small sail-boats rock 
idly wdth the balmy breeze. 

A woman, whose face is turned from us, has sud- 
denly emerged from the trees to the left of the river 
bank, and wanders leisurely toward the edge of the 
water. Her graceful form is perfect, and her dress of 
clinging white lace with a broad scarlet sash knotted 
carelessly about her girlish waist, is flawless. Her 
raven locks fall loosely from under the brim of the 
large white hat, adorned with scarlet poppies, that 
shades her face from the sun, and looking at her even 
with her back turned one would imagine her unusually 
beautiful. 

She stops and looks across the river. There is 
something pathetic in the droop of her head. She 
turns her face slowly this way. How familiar is the 
clearly cut profile ! Now her dreamy dark eyes are 
full upon us. AVe know her instantly, although a year 
and a half has increased the sadness of her fair face. 

It is Izma. 

She is at home here, for it is the villa where Kenzo 
Alvarez had lived and died ; it is the place where she 
had spent her sunny childhood ; 3’et, as she looks 
around her, there is an expression of loneliness and 
melancholy in her eyes which bespeaks of unhappiness 
and unrest. 

A sigh escapes her lips, a tear falls from her eye, 
but with an impatient movement she brushes it away, 
and wanders on until she reaches a rustic seat on the 
terrace, where she throws herself, and buries her face 
in her hands. 

A year and a half since she left Lane Park, and 


296 IZMA ; OE, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

never once liad she heard from Merivale. She had 
been true to her word in leaving England. On the day 
that Lady Maud was to have married the Duke of 
Ellesmere she had gone away ; yet often since then her 
mind had gone back to that snowy night, and she won- 
dered if it all had ended happily. 

It had hardly been a year and a half of happiness 
to her, for it had been full of tears and heartache. 
She could not forget the past ; it lived with her night 
and day, and seared her conscience with remorse. 

Visions of the man whom she had wedded in the 
little chapel in Scotland haunted her, yet his memory 
was far from hateful to her. The days that she had 
spent with him became very dear to her thoughts, and 
often when she would think of him as she had last 
seen him in the library at Merivale, lying so pale and 
helpless before her, and murmuring her own name in 
his sleep, she would burst into passionate tears. 

Too late her stubborn heart acknowledged the •truth. 
She loved the man whose enemy she had tried in vain 
to be. Day after day she had fought against it, but 
even Nurse Llorenta, who had been faithful to her 
through it all, was shrewd enough to see why her 
former interest in life was all gone. 

“ You grieve for your husband,” she often said to 
her when she found her weeping bitterly. “ You can 
never again be happy here.” 

And at last Izma began to realize the truth of her 
words. She could never again be happy here, away 
from the man who, in spite of all, was her husband. 

A year and a half away from him, and the pain of 
the separation was greater now than the day she had 
parted from him. 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. , 297 

Sitting there on the terrace with her face buried in 
her hands, her thoughts travel back to former days, 
and she looks up and cries aloud, in a voice of pain : 

“ Archie, my love — my husband, where are you to- 
day ? Oh, if you would only come to me, and see how 
miserable my life is without you ! But you will never 
come— never, never, for you told me to go away ! You 
did not love me.” And again she buries her face in 
her hands, and bitter sobs, shake ' her slender frame, 
while the birds in the trees overhead twitter and fly 
away, as if frightened by her sorrow. 

The moments go past as she sits there ; she knows 
not how long she had been away from the house when 
suddenly a footstep behind her startles her, and 
springing to her feet and looking around she sees 
Nurse Llorenta hurrying towards her with a pale, 
excited face. 

She springs to meet her, crying : 

“ What has happened, nurse ? You are very pale.” 

The woman stops, and taking breath, replies : 

“ My lady, there has been an accident at our very 
gates. A man was thrown from his horse and 
wounded, and the servants have brought him into the 
house unconscious. Come quickly ! You must see 
him. His face puzzles me. Somewhere I have seen 
it before.” 

Unhesitatingly Izma follows her, and together they 
hurry towardst he house. Izma’s heart beats quickly ; 
for she has a dread that the man may be dead before 
they reach him. 

“This way,” says Nurse Llorenta, as she opens the 
front doors and, passing into the spacious hall, crosses 


298 


, IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


over to tlie third door to the left. “ He was too ill to 
carry up the stairway ; so they brought him in here.” 

As she speaks, she turns the knob noiselessly, and 
Izma follows her into the room. 

The wounded man is lying on the white bed, and 
his face is turned from them. 

“Go near him,” whispers Nurse Llorenta, “and 
look into his face. He is unconscious ; he will not 
see or know you.” 

Izma obeys, and on tip-toe she approached the 
couch. She bends over him and looks down into his 
pale, handsome face, and a wild cry that echoes 
through the whole house, breaks from her lips. 

“ Great God !” she gasps hoarsely. “ Nurse ! O 
heaven — nurse, look at him ! It is he— it is Archie — 
my husband — my — ” Her voice breaks and dies 
away, and she sinks to the floor in a dead faint ; for 
the shock has been too much for her. 

She is picked up and carried to her room ; and soon 
she is brought back to life and to the joyful recollec- 
tion that it was indeed Lord Dancourt, her husband, 
who she had seen in the room below. 

She could not fully realize it, or believe that her 
own eyes had not deceived her, until she had stole 
back into the room and looked into his face again. 
It was he — there was no doubt of it ; and with a sob 
of joy, she fell on her knees by his bedside and kissed 
his pale, unconscious face again and again. 

For days he lingered between life and death, and 
Izma never left his side. Even in his wildest mo- 
ments, when his fevered brain seemed on fire, he 
would grow quiet and murmur her name fondly if she 
placed her gentle hand on his brow. She could no 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


299 


longer doubt that lie loved her ; for her name was ever 
upon his lips, and he would beg her in such a piteous 
manner not to blame him that tears would rise to her 
eyes. He seemed to know that she was near him, yet 
he could not understand. 

She would press his hand and say, “It is I — Izma, 
Archie ; don’t you know me, dear ?” 

He would look at her with that wild light in his 
eyes and reply, “ Izma — Izma ; she is my wife. I 
would know her anywhere.” And then he would 
ramble on feverishly and seem to forget her. 

They were trying days for Izma ; for she felt that if 
Lord Dancourt died now, she would want to be buried 
with him. She could never live to endure the re- 
proach of his wild, fevered words. 

Day and night she prayed by his bedside for heaven 
to spare him, promising that her whole life should be 
spent in atonement for her sins. 

God is just — he seldom gives us more than we can 
bear — and at last the physician who attended Lord 
Dancourt declared that he would live. 

It seemed to Izma, in her gladness of heart, that the 
sun had never shone so brightly as on that day. 
Archie would live. The very birds seemed to sing it 
from the tree-tops. 

She went to his room and threw open the windovrs 
to admit the June sunlight, saying to herself that 
there should be no darkness here. She, knelt beside 
him and, holding his hand tightly, thanked God for 
what He had done. 

It was a fair picture for Lord Dancourt to open his 
eyes upon. The cool, exquisite bed-chamber, filled 
with the perfume of flowers and dazzling sunbeams, 


300 IZMA ; OK, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

the glimpse of orange-trees and beautiful surround- 
ings through the open windows, and there beside him, 
on her knees, holding his hand in a loving clasp, Izma, 
his own wife. 

He thought he had suddenly awakened in heaven, or 
was in the midst of some blissful dream. 

A thrill of delight passed over him ; he dreaded to 
speak, lest the vision should fade away. 

Suddenly Izma looked up and saw his eyes, with 
the light of reason in their depths, fixed upon her, 
and a low cry escaped her lips. 

“ Archie ! do you know me at last ?” she asked, with 
a quick breath of suspense and ecstacy. 

“ Izma !” he cried. “ Oh, can it be true ?” 

“ That you are here with your wife, who loves you ? 
Yes” — her burning face dropping to the pillow — “it is 
true.” 

He looked at her for a moment incredulously, dazed 
by this sudden joy. 

“Where am I?” he asked, believing each moment 
that he would awaken. 

“ In Spain, at my home,” replied Izma, looking up 
into face. “ You were thrown from your horse at the 
gates here, and have been very ill. Are you not glad ” 
— with a little quiver to her voice — “that you are here 
with — with me ?” 

A happy light sprang to his eyes ; he reached out 
and covered both her trembling hands with his own. 

“ Darling — I seem to be dreaming,” he replied in a 
low, passionate voice. “ For days past I have thought 
in a vague sort of manner that an angel was at my 
bedside, and — tell me again, Izma, was it you? Am 


iZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW; ' 301 

I mad ? or did you say you loved me — my wife, my 
own true wife ?” 

“ I love you, Arcliie,” slie repeated. And lie closed 
his eyes and was silent for a moment, as if striving to 
realize the blessed truth. 

At length he looked up again and drew her closer 
to him. 

“ Kiss me, ”he whispered ; “ I have dreamed it so 
often — kiss me, my love, and I will know that you are 
mine.” 

She drew back blushing, and then with a low laugh 
she bent nearer and their lips met in a lingering 
caress. He drew her dark head down beside him and 
held it there, smoothing back the curly tresses that 
fell across her brow. 

“ Now tell me all,” he said. “ Oh, Izma, you do 
not know how miserable I have been without you ! 
Why did you go away? You knew I wanted you. 
My life was a blank without you.” 

“ I was at war with my own heart,” she replied. 
“ I did not know until I left you how well I loved you. 
The time has seemed very long,” sighing. ‘‘ I did not 
believe you would ever come to me.” 

“ If I had only known, how quickly I would have 
come, my darling, but I believed that you despised 
me. I have suffered very much.” 

“ And I.” 

My poor Izma ! God forbid that I will ever again 
cause you a pang!” 

“But what brought you here, Archie? Were you, 
indeed, in search of me ?” 

“ Yes, but I had scarcely dared hope for the bless- 
ing of your love. It was my father’s dying wish that 


m 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHIi^E AND SHADOW. 


I should find you and give you your rightful position as 
Countess of South wolde.” 

“ Your father's dying wish !” exclaimed Izma, starting up 
in astonishment. “ On, Archie, is the Earl dead?” 

“For six months past,” he replied in a choked voice; 
“and his last wish was that I should right the wrong that 
he had neglected, and do justice to Lady Adelene’s child. I 
left Merivale as soon as possible and came for you, yet never 
dreaming that I should find both a Countess and a wife. I 
was thrown from my horse, which I had rode from the city, 
at the very gates of the villa, — I remember now, — and even 
as I fell I thought of you and wondered if you would find 
me there ; but an instant later my head struck a stone and 
I knew no more.” 

“ And if it had not been for the Earl’s dying wish would 
you never have come to me?” asked Izma ^vistfully. 

“I don’t know. I think it was all the work of heaven, 
Izma,” he rephed. “ How can we tell what would have 
happened? I knew that my heart bled for you day after 
day. I was growing to despise life.” 

Of her own accord she bent down again and kissed him. 

“ I wronged you, but I will be so good to you in the future, 
Archie, that you will forget the past.” 

“I have forgotten it already,” he replied with a happy 
smile. 

“But tell me about Lady Maud and Valerie and Lady 
Thoresby,” said Izma. “ I have often longed to know if it 
all ended happily with Lady Maud.” 

“ She is as happy as we will be shortly, my dear. She was 
married to Lord Charleroy six months after the Duke of 
Ellesmere’s death.” 

“ The Duke of Ellesmere dead, too?” cried Izma. 

“ Yes,” replied Archie, proceeding to tell her all that had 



“I did not learn until a month later, Izma, how you had 
come to Merivale at midnight in the snow to help Maud in 
her trouble. I thought you had left Lane Park long ^efore. 
Maud loves you, and would sacrifice anything for your 
happiness. How glad she will he when we return to Merivale 
together; and mother, too, will bless you, for she has changed 
very much since father died.” 

“ I am so glad that all is well,” said Izma happily. 

“Yes, Maud’s wedding was the gladdest one lever saw. 
Father and mother both gave her willingly to Lord Charle- 
roy, for they saw how true had been their hearts, and that 
their lives could not be happily spent apart. There is no 
home in England more full of content than Floradene.” 

“And Valerie—what of her?” 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 303 

“She has been the wife of Captain Brunell for a year past. 
By the death of his uncle he came into a considerable in 
heritance, and they are comfortably and happily established 
in life. I left them at Floradene when I came away, where 
they have been visiting for several weeks. I was the only 
one among them whose life was marred by discontent, but 
now — ah, Izma, my own, I am the happiest of them all. 
We will return to Merivale never more to live apart. It is 
a great triumph, a heavenly blessing.” 

“ Yes, yes; and Valerie shall have Lane Park and we can 
see each other every day, just as we used to do,” said Izma 
delightedly. “ Oh, Archie, I could weep for joy !” 

“ I could better laugh for joy, my fair Countess of South- 
wolde,” replied Archie, smiling at her childish enthusiasm. 

“Then let us laugh, dear,” she said; and looking into 
each other’s eyes, they gave way to a burst of merriment for 
sheer gladness of heart. 


CONCLUSION. 

Never had there been a happier home-coming than that of 
the young Earl of Southwolde and his beautiful wife. It 
was a day never to be forgotten. It seemed to Izma that 
Merivale had grown larger and grander ; it no longer looked 
hateful to her sight, for even the servants were waiting 
there with glad faces to greet her, and cheered and raised 
their hats as she passed. 

Valerie, who was at Merivale to greet her, screamed with 
delight when she saw her, and was the very first to clasp her 
in her arms ; then came Lady Southwolde, who kissed her 
kindlj" and welcomed her with warmest words, saying, with 
a faint moisture in her eyes, that she hoped she would forget 
the past and be happy at Merivale, and that she was glad to 
resign her place to the woman her son loved. Izma threw 
her arms around her neck and replied, “I will try to be a 
gooa daughter, mother;” and that was the beginning of a 
life-long friendship. From that day they loved each other 
with a true affection, which made of Merivale a home of 
peace and happiness. 

Lord and Lady Charleroy, Lady Thoresby and Captain 
Brunell were all there to welcome her, and Izma could hardly 
tell whose face was the gladdest, they were all so full of 
tenderness and love^ 

They were truly pleased to have her at Merivale. In her 
wildest dreams she had never thought of such happiness as 
her return to England brought her. Each day beside her 


IZMA ; OR, SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


BQ4 


husband strengthened her love for him, and he was so 
foolishly fond of her, that people talked of his affection far 
and wide. He could not bear her out of his sight ; he even 
persuaded her to spend half of the day with him in his study 
whenever it was necessary for him to be there. He did not 
care what came or went so that she was near him. 

But it was just as his father had’said— Archie made a good 
Earl of Southwolde. He was greatly beloved, and by the 
poor and suffering as well as the rich he was honored. It 
was not long before his fair, young wife, too, was loved and 
blessed by many. Merivale was changed, but it was for the 
better — no one refused to acknowledge that. Much that 
had been left undone during the old Earl’s lifetime was now 
accomplished by his son. 

A new era had begun for Southwolde, Never before had 
it so prospered, and Lord Southwolde declared that it was 
all on account of his wife. 

Izma had been at Merivale but a short while before she 
gave Lane Park to Valerie, on condition that she and her 
husband would live there part of their time. Mrs. Brunell, 
however, needed but little coaxing, for she was glad enough 
to be near Izma, whom she loved more than ever since her 
return. Nothing could have been more pleasant than the 
unity that existed between Lane Park, Merivale, and Flora- 
dene. In all England there were not three homes more full 
of love and happiness. 

Izma felt that heaven had been too kind to her when one 
day her husband took her by the hand and led her into the 
picture gallery at Merivale, where a beautiful portrait of 
Lady Adelene, her mother, had been lately finished and 
placed on the wall by the side of her honored ancestors. 

The smile upon the fair face seemed to increase as Izma 
looked at it, and with a burst of tears she turned and threw 
herself upon Lord Southwolde’s breast, weeping out her 
happiness. 

‘ ‘ Archie —dear, dear Archie, ” she sobbed, ‘ ‘ how can I ever 
atone and thank you for this?” 

‘‘ You have done so already, my darling,” he replied, kiss- 
ing away her tears. “ Tell me, Izma, if a single sorrow has 
been left in your hfe, and I shall be content.” 

“ Not one, my husband,” she declared, “and the light is 
all the brighter because I once saw it through a cloud.” 

“Then,” he said with a happy laugh, “let us be thankful 
for both the sunshine and the shadows.” 


THE END. 


THE SCIENCE OF A NEW LIFE. 

BY JOHN COWAN, M. D. 

A Book Well Worth Possessing 137 Ev6r7 Thonghtfal 
lian and Woman. 

Trb ** Science of a New Life ” has received the highest testimonials and com- 
teendations from leading medical and religious critics; has been heartily endorsed 

all the leading philanthropists, and recommended to every well-wisher of the 
human race. 

TO ALL WHO ARE MARRIED 

Or are contemplating marriage, it will give information worth HUNDREDS OP 
DOLLARS, besides conferring a lasting henefit, not only upon them, but upon 
their children. Every thinking man and woman should study this work. Any 
person desiring to know more about the book before purchasing it, may send to us 
lor our 16-page descriptive circular, giving full and complete table of contents. 
It will be sent free by mail to any address. The following is the table of con* 
tents. 

Marriage and its advantages; Age at which to marry; The Law of choice; Love 
Analyzed; (Qualities the Man Should Avoid in Choosing; Qualities the Woman 
Should Avoid in Choosing; The Anatomy and Physiology or Generation in Wo- 
men; The Anatomy and Physiology of Generation in Man; Amativenesa — its 
Use and Abuse; The Prevention of Conception; The Law of Contin^ce; Children 
— Their Desirability; The Law of Genius; The Conception of a New Life; The 
Physiology of Inter-Uterine Growth; Period of Gestative Influence; Pregnancy: 
—Its Signs and Duration; Disorders of Pregnancy; Confinement; Management of 
Mother and Child after Delivery; Period of Nursing Influence; Fceticide; Diseases 
Peculiar to Women; Diseases Peculiar to Men; Masturbation; Sterility; and Im- 
potence; Subjects of which More Mighi; be Said; A Happy Married Life — How 
Secured. 

The book is a handsome 8VO, and contains over 400 PAGES, with more than 
100 ILLUSTRATIONS, and is sold at the following PRICES — ENGLISH CLOTH, 
BEVELED BOARDS, GILT SIDE AND BACK, $3.00; LEATHER, SPRINKLED 
EDGES, $3.50; HALF TURKEY MOROCCO, MARBLED EDGES, GILT BACK, 
S4 .^X). Sent by mail, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of price. 

COMMENDATIONS. 

*‘Ina careful examination of Dr. Cowan’s SCIENCE OP A NEW LIFE, I 
am prepared to give it my very cordial approval. It deserves to be in every family, 
and read and pondered, as closely relating to the highest moral and physical well-. 

being of all its members The essential remedy for these 

great evils is to be found in Dr. Cowan’s work; therefore, may it be circulated far 
and wide.” . William Lloyd Garrison. 

“ As it is easier to generate a race of healthy men and women than to regenerate 
the diseased and discordant humanity we now have, I heartily recommend the study 
of THE SCIENCE OF A NEW LIFE to every father and mother in the land.” 

Elizabeth Cady Stanton. 

“ It seems to us to be one of the wisest, and purest, and most helpful of those 
Books which have been written in recent years, with the intention of teaching 
Men and Women the Truths about their Bodies, which are of peculiar importance 

to the morals of Society No one can begin to imagine the misery that 

has come upon the human family solely through ignorance apon this subject.” 

The Christian Union. 

If, after reading the above, you wish to get a copy of the book, send us the 
money by Post-office order or registered letter, and we will send it by return mail. 

Agents wanted to whom we offer liberal terms. Send to us at once for our 
confidential terms, and sta-e what territory yOu can work to advantage. 

Address all orders and applications for an agency to 

J. S. OGILVIE Publisher , 

P. O. BOX 2767. BOSS STBJSET, NEW YOEK, 









